


Vanteeria Domestica

by andrea_readwolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abduction, Creature Fic, Death Eater Revels, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, First Time, Harems, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Magical Creature, Magical Inheritance, Magical Pregnancy, Mating Bond, Mating Rituals, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Partners, Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Sexual Violence, Student-Teacher Sexual Tension, Torture, Violence, alternative sixth year, beastie/anthro, hetero/slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-27 11:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 38
Words: 271,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2691041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrea_readwolf/pseuds/andrea_readwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a new shiny Head Boy badge, Harry's returning to Hogwarts for his final year with a pocketful of plans and handful of wishful dreams.  But an unusual inheritance and a Dark Lord threaten even the best laid plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Harry's last summer with the Dursleys; the last summer before his seventh and last year at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a work in (excruciatingly slow) progress. 
> 
> It's a stress-reliever story--most scenes were originally written when I was/am feeling particularly edgy, pissy, or just generally want to tear the world to shreds. I was very descriptive, and I'm still debating how much I will actually post because they are... upsetting, even to me. It's nasty, mean, horrible, sickening, and very not nice. 
> 
> The Death Eater torture scenes should very well contain triggers for many readers--  
>  This story will also have elements of bestiality, blatant and implied; there will be scenes of dubious-consent, rape, abuse, slavery and some seriously violent situations.
> 
> Despite this disclaimer, I'm honestly an equal-opportunist, generally happy-go-lucky person who's a big romantic and loves me a happy ending. And babies. Lots and lots of babies. So... 
> 
> There will be het, fem-slash, and m-slash, cross-generational relationships, and lots and lots of pregnancies. 
> 
> This is neither my first nor second Harry Potter fic. It is merely the second one I'm starting to share. It is incomplete--yes, I have an outline, with copious amounts of notes. Yes, I have a tentative ending in place, however, I'm willing to bend and flow depending on where the narrative actually leads. I'm posting with the hope of giving myself some accountability towards continuing/finishing.
> 
> This story is currently unbeta-ed and quite raw. Any constructive criticism towards mechanics, grammar, plot development, characterization, and story continuum is appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

Wednesday, 30 July, 1997

 

 

Harry Potter was having trouble falling asleep, despite an exhausting day. He knew why, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

 

A glance at his watch—working again thanks to some nifty spell Hermione had found—told him midnight was fast approaching.

 

It was silly, he tried to tell himself, but apparently, himself wasn’t listening. Sure, it was a bit of a tradition to wait up till midnight the night before his birthday, but, honestly, it was a bit unreasonable when he knew he would be getting up early tomorrow morning. And he was absolutely positively not worried a lick about his Inheritance. No, that was just silly. After all, he’d seen both Hermione and Ron go through their Inheritances over the last year—all that had changed for them was a bit of a growth spurt and a boost in their magical core.

 

He’d already known Hermione was pretty powerful, so seeing her spells take on new weight after her birthday wasn’t a big surprise. Seeing Ron’s capabilities jump might have been, too, if Harry hadn’t witnessed his friend’s struggles throughout the Fall and Winter terms as his magic tried to find a new equilibrium. Harry knew a lot of Ron’s troubles came from his encounter with the brains down in the Department of Mysterious, although Ron refused to talk about it, and he couldn’t help the nugget of guilt he still felt for leading his friends into a trap.

 

That thought made him think of Neville, who would have already gone through his Inheritance since it was his birthday today. He wondered what his steady and quiet friend had received when he turned seventeen. Harry had sent Hedwig off to Neville two nights ago with his birthday wishes and some seeds he’d picked up at the garden center he’d visited while on errands for his aunt.

 

Neville had confided in an earlier letter that he was more than a bit worried about his Inheritance. In addition to his grandmother seeming to expect Neville to step up and take more of an active role in Longbottom Family matters, there was the ever underlying worry that the traumas of his childhood would somehow interfere with his magical inheritance. Maybe something dire. Harry had wanted to tell him he was worrying over nothing, but Neville, having grown up in the wizarding world like Ron, was more likely to know than Harry was.

 

Ron had mentioned some kids going to sleep on the night of their birthday and waking up the next morning with wings or covered in scales. Seamus had said his Inheritance had come with excruciating pain that pierced every inch of his body. Hermione had said it was mildly discomforting but nothing too extreme. Dean, apparently, hadn’t noticed anything much at all. He wasn’t sure about Lavender or Pavarti, but he knew for a fact no one in Gryffindor Tower had sported scales or feathers this year unless they’d unknowingly partook in a Canary Cream.

 

Green eyes crept back to the slender hands on his watch, watching as midnight crept ever closer.

 

He supposed it would be just his luck to wind up with scales, wings, and a tail to boot, Harry thought. And purple. No, no, green to match his eyes, he added feeling his stomach roil. He didn’t even want to think what Petunia or Vernon would do if he came downstairs tomorrow morning looking more ‘freakish’ than normal.

 

What really sucked, though, was that there was little chance now he would be waking up before 6am tomorrow to do his exercises. Oh well, it was his birthday. A day without exercising could be his little treat to himself. That and the day out on the town Remus had promised him. That was something he was excited for.

 

The clock downstairs chimed—it was a new addition to the house décor, a Christmas present Aunt Marge had gifted them this last year. Harry suspected Aunt Petunia hated the monstrosity, but she didn’t say anything where he had heard.

 

Still, he glanced at his watch to confirm…. Yes, it was midnight. It was 31 July. Harry was official seventeen. A tingle raced through him and he tensed in expectation…

 

But nothing happened. No scales, no feathers, no wings, no pain—excruciating or otherwise.

 

Reaching for his wand, he pointed it at Hedwig’s cage and casted a quick “Scourgify!” The owl droppings and scraps of messy paper hiding bits and pieces of things Harry would rather not think about disappeared, leaving behind a clean cage.

 

“Reparo!” he called out softly, waving his wand over the broken digital radio/alarm clock that had mysteriously been added to his bedroom sometime over the last year. The clock gave out a <POP!> followed by a puff of smoke, and Harry remembered muggle things and magic didn’t always mix so well. Oh well, it wasn’t like it wasn’t broken already, he thought.

 

Then he grinned. Then he giggled—before quickly stifling the sound. He was seventeen! He was legal! He was able to do magic whenever and wherever he liked! Ha!

 

He surveyed the smallest bedroom of 4 Private Drive, and with twinkling eyes set his wand in motion. When a wave of exhaustion swept over him, it was nearly quarter to one and the bedroom was completely remodeled. It was, by far, the nicest room in the entire house, he thought sinking down into the quilted mattress and fresh linen sheets, the fluffy pillow cushioning his head soft like a cloud.

 

The walls were sporting a fresh yellow, the clean window dressed out in ocean blue curtains. The repaired desk and night table were standing solidly upon all four legs and polished to a shine, the floor boards smoothly polished and gleaming and covered in a plush area rug. He’d even been able to transfigure a beat up shoebox into a trendy-looking book case that currently displayed all of his school books from previous years, protected by several preservation charms and some strong Notice-Me-Not charms. The best, in his opinion, however, was the Muggle Repelling charm he’d placed on the door.

 

With any luck, his relatives might just ignore him for the rest of the summer!

 

It was only as he was drifting away into sleep that he thought of his Inheritance, or seemingly lack thereof. It was nice to not be in pain.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_-Wednesday, 2 July, Surrey-_

 

Harry sat nervously on the steps to 4 Privet Drive, knee jiggling as he scanned up and down the street, waiting for a familiar figure. In his hands, he held the letter that had arrived last night from his surrogate god-father, Remus, stating that the older man would be around by 9 this morning to pick him up.  It was only 8:40, but he couldn’t stand to wait any longer inside the house.

 

Apparently, neither could Remus because less than 5 minutes later, the deceptively mild mannered werewolf came strolling up the path, a knowing little smile crooked on his lips. 

 

“I thought you might be ready early,” the elder man greeted as Harry shot up from the stoop.

 

“Remus!” the boy exclaimed joyfully, rushing up to him and engulfing the werewolf in a large hug which the wolf returned with an extra little squeeze and a quick little sniff.  “So, where are we going?” he asked when they finally pulled away.  “You didn’t say in your letter. Just to be ready by 9. What are we going to be doing?”

 

Remus laughed at Harry’s exuberance.  “Well, first, I thought it’s about time you get to meet Sirius’s cousin—Andromeda Tonks nee Black.”

 

“Tonks?”

 

“Yep, she’s Tonks’s mum,” Remus confirmed. “The eldest of the three Black sisters. She’s a formidable woman, an unabashed Slytherin, and was pretty much Sirius’s favorite cousin after your father. So, do you have everything? Are you ready to go?”

 

“Ready and willing,” Harry confirmed, still grinning unrepentantly, snatching up his knapsack.

 

“Good. Then we’ll just head on back down to Figgy’s and use her floo.”

 

“What’s Tonks’s mum like? Is she anything like Tonks?” Harry wanted to know.

 

Remus snorted. “A typical Black lady is more like it,” he corrected.  “Remember, this is the woman who one, defied her family and ran off to marry a muggle-born, and two, turned around and named her daughter ‘Nymphadora’.”

 

Harry snickered and returned Remus’s grin. “So why are we going to meet her now? Why not ever before?”

 

“Well, for one, there just never seemed to be the right time,” Remus explained, apologetically.  “Last summer was, well, bad for everyone, and the summer before that—“ “Wasn’t much better, yeah, I get it,” Harry sighed, nodding.  “So, what’s changed? Why now?”

 

“Now, because you’re going to be 17 this summer,” Remus grinned again, ruffling Harry’s already untidy hair. “A legal adult in our world. This means you’re going to have even more responsibilities.  Andy knows this and basically told Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that she would be meeting with you regularly this summer to ensure you’re prepared.”

 

“Wait,” Harry paused. “Is she going to train me?”

 

Remus looked back at him.  “Not in the manner I’m sure you’re hoping, but yes, she will be training you. Training you in lessons you should have been getting all along as the heir to a family line.” He turned back around and continued walking, trusting Harry to follow along. “In addition, I’ll be teaching you a few things this summer, too. I hope you’re ready to work.”

 

Harry whooped delightedly and chased after him.

 

***

 

 Harry came stumbling out of the floo into the greeting room at Whitehorse Lane, still laughing. If Remus hadn’t have caught him, he would have tumbled onto the ground.

 

“Oh, my.”

 

“Wotcher, Harry, Remus,” Tonks’s familiar voice chirped. “Good to see you made it okay. The muggles not getting you down too much, are they, Harry?”

 

“Nah, it’s all good. Good to see you, Tonks,” Harry greeted with a big smile.

 

“So what was so funny?”

 

“Oh, just the way Mrs. Figg’s cats took to Remus,” Harry snorted and Tonks joined in at Remus’s bemused put-upon face.

 

“Nymphadora?” a smooth, cultured voice called their attention gently.

 

Harry started, startled by the surprising resemblance of the older woman.  This is what Bellatrix would have looked like, he thought, if she hadn’t have spent all those years locked up in Azkaban.

 

She was… stunning. A real looker, for being an older woman and all. Even more refined looking that Mrs. Malfoy—and then he remembered the three women were all sisters.

 

“Ah, hello Mrs. Tonks,” Harry stumbled out a greeting, bypassing a literally steaming red Tonks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise,” the woman greeted. “Andromeda Tonks, Mr. Potter. You may call me ‘Andy’.”

 

“Then please, call me Harry,” he returned.

 

“There’s tea, in the drawing room. Shall we sit and have a cup?” the elder woman offered motioning up towards the stairs.

 

“Ah, sure,” he agreed, shooting a questioning look towards Tonks and Remus, who, he noticed, were standing awfully close to one another.  Had the auror finally caught the wolf he wondered, following Andy up to the ground floor and into the drawing room.  The couple followed a few short minutes behind, unerringly settling into their seats as ones long accustomed to their placement in a room.  Harry wondered just how much time Remus had been spending at Whitehorse Lane recently.

 

“I have petitioned to Dumbledore, as your legal magical guardian for several years now,” Andy began once they were all seated with their tea, “for the right to instruct you in the manner in which you will be expected to perform. He has denied my requests under various flimsy excuses, but no longer.  Mr. Potter, Harry, this summer you will be turning seventeen and thus become a legal wizard in our world, complete with all the rights and responsibilities that entails.”

 

Harry nodded. He was completely aware of when his birthday was and how old he would be turning this year. He was looking forward to it—to finally being able to perform magic outside of school without getting in trouble for it with the ministry.

 

“You are the heir to two very illustrious families, Harry,” Andy continued, calmly sipping her tea. “And as such, there are many important roles you will be expected to play within our society. I know, from speaking with Remus this past year, that no one has instructed you in these vital lessons. That is what we will be doing this summer.”

 

“Good luck,” Tonks piped in.  “Mum’s a real taskmaster when it comes to all the p’s and q’s.”

 

“The what?” Harry gaped.

 

“Politics and etiquette, Harry,” Andy replied with a wicked expression. “Basically, everything you need to know to be a proper pureblooded lord; hopefully without most of the typical biases our society is rife with currently.”

 

***

 

Remus had been right in predicting Andromeda would be training Harry in subjects that he would have rather happily ignored.  Tonks was equally as correct in referring to her mother as a taskmaster.  Harry was whimpering and ready to cry defeat before the first hour was up.  Before the end of the first day, he was all but begging Remus to take him away, and by the end of the first day he really was begging not to be forced back.

 

Remus, the traitor, just laughed at him and said he’d be around the same time tomorrow.

 

It was grueling. He honestly thought he would rather spend a potions lesson with Snape teaching than suffer through another one of Andromeda’s politics and etiquette classes. There were so many rules! He didn’t know how one was supposed to keep them all straight, and at different levels of society different rules applied and…. He never realized there were so many different ways to insult someone.

 

He grimaced, remembering—tomorrow Andy had promised to begin dancing lessons as well.

 

***

 

By the end of the month, Harry had grown accustomed to his lessons and even—though he would blatantly deny it—come to enjoy the time spent in Andromeda Tonks’s company.  She was an intelligent woman with a sharp tongue and a wicked sense of humour.  Under her tutelage Harry learned about what it meant to be a pureblood without the biased views of his godfather or his friends. He’d learned more about his family history—both the Blacks and the Potters—and he’d also been reminded just how interrelated the wizarding world was. He spent days tracing his family connections to half of his classmates, though his closest relation remained Draco Malfoy.

 

As if that wasn’t enough, when he wasn’t learning about his family history or the pureblood agenda/values, Edward Tonks, Andromeda’s husband who happened to be a litigator, had him learning about law and finance. He was able to make politics seem somewhat interesting by using stories from his own cases to explain the different laws and governing systems.  

 

Several evenings a week he would stay for dinner with the Tonkses, and he thoroughly enjoyed his talks with Remus and Edward as they sat in the drawing room, playing a game of cards and listening to the news on the telly. He learned more about the world he was living in—muggle and magical—from those talks.

 

 ****

 

The first time when Remus wasn’t well enough to come by and collect Harry himself, Tonks showed up to collect him. He’d been surprised, before remembering the approaching full moon and just how jittery his honorary godfather had been the day before.

 

“You know,” he told Tonks as they made their way down to Mrs. Figg’s. “I’m quite capable of walking to Mrs. Figg’s house all on my own. I don’t need someone to pick me up every day.”

 

Tonks shot an amused grin at him. “It’s not like we’re babysitting you or anything,” she teased. “Remus and I know you’re capable of walking yourself down the street, Harry, but, well there’s a lot going on, really.  Some of it has to do with your protection, wanting to keep you safe, sure. But, mostly, we just like spending a few quiet minutes one-on-one with you.  Is that okay?”

 

“I suppose so, but wouldn’t you rather be spending those one-one-one moments with Remus,” he teased, wagging his eyebrows at her mockingly.

 

She laughed and slapped his shoulder.  “Oh, don’t you worry about that.”

 

“So you’re an item, then?”

 

“For the most part, yeah. Not officially, of course. He hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend or anything so blatant, but we’ve gone out together on a few dates. Had a nice time together, stole a few kisses…”

 

“Ew! This is my honorary godfather you’re talking about here. That’s almost like talking about your parents.”

 

“Auh, it’s not that bad. I once walked in on my parents in the act one night when they’d forgotten to put a silencing charm up and woke me up. Now that was scarring.”

 

“Enough! Enough,” Harry laughed, trying to cover his ears.

 

“Yeah, so, things are going pretty all right with you and my mum? I know she can be a pretty hard ass about some of these rules and what not, but she really does mean well.”

 

“Yeah, I know, I kind of figured that out from the get go. It’ just… never cared to ever learn these things before, you know? And now, we’re trying to cram a whole fifteen years’ worth of learning into one or two months. It’s a bit much.”

 

“You’ll get it, Harry,” she encouraged, giving him a quick side hug. “Just remember to be your polite, charming self, and even if you make any mistakes, no one will care because of how wonderfully charming you are.”

 

“O, is that the secret to it, huh?”

 

“Yep,” Tonks chirped, grinning unreproachful at him and shooting him a saucy little wink before knocking cheerfully on the old squib’s door.

 

*** 

 

By the time his birthday rolled around, Harry felt like his head might just explode with all of the rules and manners and expectations Andromeda had spent the last month cramming into his skull.  He was more than grateful to have an extra day off.

 

It had been a Thursday, and the moon was in first quarter, so Remus had been feeling especially well.  Petunia was out at one of her ladies’ clubs, Dudley was running about with his friends, and Vernon was off at work, so Harry snuck Remus into Privet Drive and up to see the new alterations to his bedroom. Grinning, he swung the door wide and invited Remus in.

 

“Pretty good work, pup,” Remus praised, grinning and pulling Harry in for another hug. “So how does it feel to be all legal?”

 

“Great,” Harry breathed, practically bouncing where he stood.  “I mean, I was a little nervous last night, but…” He shrugged and held out his arms. “I’m pretty okay except for some lack of sleep.”

 

Remus laughed.  “That worried about your inheritance, eh. You should have said something. Tonks or I could’ve stayed over and kept you company or something.”

 

Harry shrugged. “No worries. Besides, I would’ve just kept you up with my nervousness. But it was all for nothing, right?  I mean, I was kind of worried after hearing some of those tales.  It would have been just my luck to grow scales or horns or something.”

 

Remus chuckled some more.  “Well, as far as I’m aware, no one in your family line has ever grown scales. Horns—well, antlers, now that’s a different story. Come on. Let’s get over to Whitehorse so we can pick up the ladies.  Andy mentioned wanting to stop at the bank first before shopping, and you still need to claim your legal inheritance.”

 

“Yea, work before play,” Harry cheered lackluster, sharing a somewhat droll grin with the older man.

 

* 

 

Andromeda had promised to sit down with him throughout the month of August and make sense of the many portfolios the goblins had foisted off on Harry after he claimed his inheritance of the Potter and Black family accounts.  He was very grateful for her help, too.  At first, he wasn’t even sure where to begin… she merely handed him the first folder on the stack.

 

“Here,” she said, holding the folder out to him.  “Open it. What does it say at the top?” she prompted. 

 

And slowly, with her very calm and methodical way, they worked through first the Potter files and then the Black files, putting everything into order.  He discovered that while it was an ancient family line, having lived in the isles since the early 7th century, the family accounts themselves were rather modest. The last few wars had left the family with mixed holdings in various states—some excellent stock selections expanding across both the magical and muggle markets, a respectable pile of gold, several vault full of family heirlooms, and two or three currently uninhabitable homes.  The family manor was reportedly burnt down in ’77; the summer cottage in Godric’s Hollow was partially destroyed in ’81; and another plot of land was “misplaced”.

 

Comparatively, the Black accounts had numerous properties scattered up and down the island that were all marked as being in unknown condition. The accounts themselves, however, were mostly financially strapped with little stock and a decimated gold count. He was surprised to discover that Sirius’s personal vault held more gold in it than the main Black Family vault.

 

“Aunt Walburga, no doubt,” Andy sighed looking over the numbers. “Probably went straight into the coffers of the dark lord. Or else it’s stashed away in multiple spots. She hated goblins almost as much as she hated muggles and muggle-born. I always thought it was rather ironic that she lived the majority of her life surrounded by muggles in the middle of London, don’t you agree?”

 

*

 

As August rolled along, the Tonks’ and Remus helped Harry retrain his magic as it continued to fluctuate—the only noticeable effect of his inheritance. From simple everyday household charms (like the nifty packing spell Tonks had once told him about before) to impressive privacy wards, Harry had learned a ton of magic he never would have if not for the simple act of exposure to other witches and wizards.  He’d made sure to keep a running list that he planned on giving to Hermione when he saw her again.

 

Harry steadily got better and better at those p’s and q’s.  He continued his biweekly chats over cards with Edward Tonks.  In the mornings and some afternoons, he would often visit with Andromeda. Sometimes, the witch would insist he accompany her to various parks and gardens, strolling along the lanes. These seemingly innocent strolls were rife with complex conversation and dialog. Other times, she would magic an old phonograph to play and command him to dance with her and make like he was enjoying himself. (Sometimes, he actually did.)

 

Throughout everything, she would continue to train him in how to be a young, independent wizarding lord and head of two families.  She would quiz him on his goals—his hopes and dreams for the wizarding world, what steps he would take to achieve them, how others might react upon learning of his goals, how he would in turn respond to them. What would he do if goal was deemed unreasonable or unattainable?  On and on she continued to grill and train him until the Wednesday before he was to leave to return to Hogwarts.

 

“You’re a smart young man,” Andromeda said fondly as they settled into the drawing room after their evening meal. “You have a good heart and a good head. Just remember to check both before you run off to save the world. We’re here for you, if you ever need someone to talk to or, well, whatever.”

 

Edward smiled and clasped her hand. “Why, my dear, I do believe that’s one of the nicest things you’ve said to the boy all summer.”

 

“Pah,” the elder woman huffed, eyeing her husband.  “I’ve said plenty of ‘nice things’ to Harry, all summer long,” she corrected. “I always say ‘nice things’, it’s in my nature.”

 

Her husband just continued to smile, lifting her hand to his lips.

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Gotta Get Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets up with his classmates.

 

1 September

 

Harry woke exceptionally early Monday morning, and no amount of tossing or turning would lull him back to sleep. By five, he gave it up as a loss and rolled out of bed to pull on some running shorts and a shirt that had probably seen its better days years ago but was still quite comfy. He waved his wand over a pair of grubby sneakers, effectively cleaning and deodorizing them before he shoved his feet into them, and carefully padded down the stairs and out into the cool early morning air.  

 

This summer had been another scorcher, and he knew the cool wouldn’t last much longer. Already the sun was beginning to lighten the sky towards the east. With a roll of his shoulders and a shake of both legs, Harry took off down the sidewalk at a steady jog, warming up his muscles before kicking up the speed. By the time he’d gone two blocks he’d upped the tempo to an even-paced clip that ate up the meters and allowed his mind to wander freely.

 

Today was 1 September 1997, and in just a few short hours Harry would meet up with his friends and fellow schoolmates as they made their way off to their final year of schooling at Hogwarts. He could hardly believe it—how incredibly drastically his very life had changed just seven years ago with one letter. Not that everything had miraculously gotten better, he reflected. There had been plenty of bad stuff through the years, some very bad stuff, but there’d also been some really great things, too.

 

‘That’s it, Potter,’ he coached himself. ‘Keep positive. Silver lining and all that rot.’

 

He was panting harder now, but nowhere near as badly as when he’d first decided to take to jogging. Actually, like most good ideas, it had been Hermione who first put forth the concept of needing to be physically fit. Despite his screaming body parts at the beginning, he couldn’t really fault her logic. It had started with a DA meeting where they’d been trying to dodge incoming spellfire. Few had made it to the end of the twenty-minute time period without sustaining as least one hit, and none had made it through with their breath.

 

“This is utterly ridiculous!” the then-sixth-year Gryffindor prefect snapped.

 

“I agree,” Justin Finch-Fletchley groaned from his own position on the floor.

 

“Bloody shameful it is,” Seamus agreed mournfully. “Got tagged at least a dozen times.”

 

“Cheer up, mate,” Dean put in, clapping him along the back. “At least you made it through with all your bits in tacked.”  

 

All the boys winced at that reminder. Although Sara Fawcett insisted it was an accident, none of the boys offered to pair up with previous girlfriends once Macmillan had needed to be escorted to the infirmary.

 

“No!” Hermione gasped. “Well, yes, that, too, but what I was referring to is the fact that all of us are in horrible physical shape.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Pavarti murmured pushing sweaty strands of dark hair back from her face. Near her, Lavender muffled a giggle behind a hand before noticing her nail polish had chipped and grimacing.

 

“You know, in the muggle world,” Hermione pressed on, “students are required to participate in physical education classes.”

 

“What?” squawked Ron. “Whatever would they want to do that for?”

 

“It’s considered healthy. Honestly, Ron,” she huffed. “I’m sure even professional quidditch players have some form of a physical regime to keep in shape.”

 

“You’re saying we should get something like that going, too?” Harry asked curiously.

 

“Nothing drastic, of course,” Hermione rushed to put in. “Not at first in any way, but if we were to start simple with, say a five minute jog? Maybe some jumping jacks or push up or…” She trailed off with that musing look on her face that Harry and Ron both knew to associate with trouble. Not the kind that meant basilisk in the pipes, but the kind that meant a trip to the library was fast approaching or, worse, an owl order form would be sent off sometime in the next twelve hours.

 

“Well, let me think on it some more,” Hermione concluded. “I’ll have something ready for the next meeting.

 

And she had. She’d called it ‘starting small’ with the intent to purposefully build up their endurance. Many DA members had originally threatened to quit if the physical fitness was going to be mandatory, but after only a month of extra exercises, those who’d opted out really noticed a difference in their classmates’ performance, and they had grudgingly joined on.

 

Summer had proven to be the real test—would they still continue with their programs even without their peers there to keep them on track. Harry had tried, but he’d missed a few days practice. He always felt worse though when he didn’t work out, so he’d devised a routine that would still allow him to work out without the Dursleys being aware. One of the methods he had developed was running while it was dark outside—the Dursleys didn’t often get up any earlier than half six. Another method he used was concentrating on his different muscles while he was working around the house and yard. He’d remembered Dudley watching a movie once about a kid doing menial labor while really training his body for kung fu or karate. He’d thought it cool as a kid, although his attempts at flying kicks didn’t go so great.

 

Still, the results were in as they say. The wizarding world might be going for broke, but Harry was feeling at the top of his game. It helped loads that he’d actually been able to practice magic this summer.   A good thing, too, because his magic had gone a bit wonky after his birthday, and he’d needed the extra practice just to rein it in.   During one of his training sessions with Remus the old wolf had confessed that that was one of the reasons the magical majority was set at seventeen—so young witches and wizards could refocus their magic after their inheritances.

 

 Harry’s Magical Inheritance on the 31st had seemed pretty tame—something for which Harry was both extremely grateful for and just a tad bit disappointed by. Not that he would admit that last to anyone. He’d experienced a bit of a growth spurt, adding only a handful of centimeters to his height for which he was very thankful to have any added height at all. He was now a somewhat decent 5’7”—but then again, he’d never really dared to hope to every come close to Ron’s 6’1”.

 

His reflexes seemed to have quickened and his muscles became more defined, as well—of course, that could have just been the fact that he had eaten fairly healthy all this summer and kept up his daily exercises. Physical improvements left him achy all through August as his body adjusted, joints and muscles stretching as his bones lengthened, and mild pain relievers had been his very good friend. It took him nearly three weeks to realize his increasingly painful headaches were a result from his eyes changing; his eyesight improved tiny bit by tiny bit, to the point where he needed a new prescription. All to the good in his opinion, he thought, readjusting his new frames as they slipped down his sweaty nose.  

 

And, of course, his magic seemed wilder, harder to tame, unfocused. He had needed the extra training Remus helped provide him with that summer just to regain control of his magic. And his former Defense professor surely worked him hard for that control. Four nights a week of magical study, two nights of wizarding study, and one night freedom to make sure his summer homework was completed.

 

Other than a somewhat persistent summer cold that left him with watery eyes, a goobery nose, and sneezing at crazy, unpredictable times, the summer was good. Great, even. Easily one of the best of his lifetime. He was looking forward to next summer when there would be no Dursleys to return to for two month and no school to return to in the fall.

 

Of course, he had to get through this year first, he thought as he turned back onto Privet Drive. His trunk was already packed with all of his worldly belongings—he’d taken care of that last night before he’d turned in. All that was left for him this morning was to grab a bit of brekkie, and he was planning on meeting up with Remus one last time in London for that, before hopping on the tube bound for King’s Cross where he meet up with his friends for their last train ride to Hogwarts. Their last year at Hogwarts.

 

It was really here, he thought giddily, running up the steps.

 

*

 

“Harry!” Hermione’s excited shout carried across the train platform before the young woman herself plowed into him, wrapping him up in an affectionate embrace. Thankfully his arms were empty, having just finished helping a younger year wrangle his trunk onto the train.

 

“Hey, Hermione, let the man breathe, yeah?” Ron came up behind her followed by Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, who was overly-emotion due to the fact her son was leaving for his last year. “Cheers, mate,” the ginger greeted with a friendly hug before stepping back to make way for his mother.

 

“Harry, dear! Let me look at you,” Mrs. Weasley demanded, pulling him in close for a smothering embrace before holding him at arm’s length to scrutinize his appearance. “Well, you look better than most years, I suppose. Still a bit thin, though. I don’t know why Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t let you stay with us this year. You had no trouble, did you. You got the packages we sent?”

 

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” he answered dutifully, unable to stop grinning at her, or the roll of Ron’s eyes behind her. “I actually had a pretty good summer, and Remus and I visited a lot.”

 

“Well, that’s good then, I suppose.” She looked a bit wistful as she cupped his cheek and petted his hair, and it was with a jolt Harry realized she was actually looking up at him. He was taller than Mrs. Weasley. His chest constricted and before he could think twice, he engulfed her in another hug.

 

“Thank you, for everything.”

 

She gave him a squeeze back, and then she abruptly let his go. “Look at you,” she gruffed. “Up you lot go, onto the train before it leaves without you. Wouldn’t want that, now would you.”

 

“Oh! I need to find the Head Boy,” Hermione startled, suddenly remembering her agenda for the train ride this year. “I’ll meet up with you both on the train?”

 

“Sure, sure,” Ron waved her off before sidling in to Harry to whisper, “She’s been going mental for the last week, making lists of lists. She’s absolutely barmy about this Head Girl business!”

 

“She’s wanted this since we were first years,” Harry reminded him. “What about you? You upset about not being Head Boy this year?” he asked, watching his friend a bit warily.

 

“Nah, I mean, sure it might have been nice, having the power and all that, but I guess I kinda learned from being Prefect that there’s all this responsibility involved as well. And, really, mate, you haven’t heard some of the things Hermione’s been going on about. I pity the bloke who gets stuck having to work with her this year. I mean, no one else is as used to her as we are!”

 

“So you guys really don’t know who the head boy is?” Harry asked, a bit surprised.

 

“No. The letter Hermione got with her head girl badge only said she was to meet up with the head boy today to start arranging things for this year and all. Why, do you know? We couldn’t get anyone to confess to knowing. Did Remus or someone say anything to you?”

 

“Uh, well, about that,” he hedge, hesitantly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a shiny gold badge.

 

“Holy—really?” Ron whispered excitedly before laughing. “This is great!”

 

“Really?”

 

“Well, yeah! I mean, with you and Hermione being head boy and girl and me being a prefect, we can completely rule the school! But,” Ron paused in his sinister Hogwarts take-over dreaming to frown at Harry. “Why didn’t you say anything to Hermione when she ran off looking for the head boy?”

 

Harry grinned at him. “Well, it’s like you said—you and me probably know her best, and if I’d let her know now, she would have started dumping all those plans and agendas and schemes that she’s been busily making for the last month…”

 

Ron snorted. “True enough. She’s still going to dump’em on you, though, you know. Well, I suppose it time to face the music,” he sighed, climbing onto the train. “Where’d you put your stuff?”

 

“Fourth car, last compartment. Neville and Luna are already in there. I imagine Ginny must have found them by now, too. Come on, let’s dump your stuff in there, too, and then I want to do a walkthrough of the train, make sure everyone’s mostly settled before meeting up in the Prefects’ car.”

 

“Sure, sure. Being responsible and all,” Ron nodded sagely. “The infection of being a head boy. ‘Lo Neville. Good summer?”

 

“Hi Ron! Was a bit of alright, you?” Neville greeted, getting up to help Ron chuck his trunk in the overhead rack.

 

“Hello, Ronald,” the blonde girl said calmly, looking up from the latest edition of the Quibbler. Her brow puzzled, and her head tipped as she studied him for a moment…and then her gaze drifted away.

 

“Oh, hey, Luna,” Ron mumbled.

 

“We’re going to do a sweep of the train before heading off to the Prefect’s car,” Harry informed them. “Did you two need anything? Where’s Ginny? I thought she would have been in here already.”

 

“Nah, we’re good,” Neville answered. “Let us know if you need anything, yeah? We’ll see you later?”

 

“Ginny chose to sit in another compartment,” Luna announced, causing Harry to frown.

 

“Oh, well, I guess we’ll meet up with you guys later then,” he stumbled—verbally and physically as the train started to move. “Come on,” he said, nudging Ron. “Let’s go make sure everyone’s settled, yeah?”

 

“Sure, mate. Whatever you say,” Ron agreed amicably as he shoved a box of Bertie Botts’ in his pocket.

 

It took them over twenty minutes to traipse down one end of the train and up the other, but by the time they reached the Prefect’s Car Harry felt satisfied, having touched base with many of his school mates and greeting a majority of the younger years, especially the first years. As they got further to the front of the train, as they ran into other prefects fifth through seventh years, more greetings were called out until they’d all filed into the large open car.

 

“Really, Granger,” Draco Malfoy drawled. “Even if I was Head Boy, I would decline if it meant having to be any closer to you for any length of time.”

 

“I’ve already spoken to Anthony and Ernie,” Hermione huffed.

 

“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said as he followed Harry inside. “Is that all you’ve done since we got on the train?”

 

“No, of course not, Ron, but—I—Harry? What are—?” Her eyes lit up. “Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded.

 

“You didn’t ask,” he answered simply with a smile and a small shrug. Then he turned to the rest of the students gathered and clapped his hands. “All right then. It looks like we’re all gathered. It’s good to see everyone here.”

 

Harry looked at each person. “We are different. We come from different Houses, different families, different backgrounds. But we are all here for a similar reason. We come to Hogwarts as children, eager to learn about Magic. Hopefully, when we leave, we’re better equipped to become meaningful members of our world.

 

“Us, here, right now, are all here because someone thought we were responsible. That we’re worthy of being role models for the rest of the students. That we’re capable of making good decisions and leading others on the right path. And we’re here to support each other.”

 

The other teenagers shifted under the weight of his gaze, but no one spoke up just yet. Even Hermione sat watching him as attentively as any professor.

 

“I talked to Professor McGonagall quite a bit this summer, and we’ve come to an agreement,” Harry continued. “Inside Hogwarts, it should not matter what side of the war your family supports. Inside Hogwarts, we must set aside our personal differences and stand together. We’re going to try and implement some new changes, from the bottom up, so to speak. Hermione has a lot of ideas. Well, I have a lot of ideas, too, but we’re going to need your help to make them work. No, more than that. We need your input, your understanding of the world and your housemates. And we need your commitment. I really feel we can make a positive difference for future generations, and that’s something I really want to be a part of.

 

“Can I have your commitment to making this year the best we can make it?”

 

“What about NEWTS?” Padma spoke up. “How much time are you asking us to commit to, Harry?”

 

“Yes,” Ernie chimed in. “And just what are these commitments and plans of yours?”

 

“Fair questions,” Harry allowed. “First, I plan on continuing the DA, but I want to open it up. Open membership to all the houses, all the years,” he put in quickly before any of them could start to protest. “And I want to branch it out into other subject areas.”

 

“That would be a good idea,” Hermione nodded. “A lot of us get together as study groups anyway, but if we could use the Room of Requirement to practice…”

 

“And if we had older years helping tutor younger years, it would be a great review for those of us preparing for our OWLS or NEWTS,” Harry pointed out.

 

“What else?”

 

“Well,” Harry prepared to jump into his mental list of things he wanted and hoped to accomplish within the school this year, his last year. What he hoped would be his best year.

 

*

 

“Let’s leave it there,” Harry addressed the assembled Prefects less than an hour later. “I need to meet with the Quidditch captains and seconds—if you’ll let them know to come find me, yeah? I know there’s a lot more to go over, but it’s important we’re all seen as a presence on the train. Move around a bit, yeah. Don’t all stay in just one car. We’ll meet again tomorrow after dinner and take it up from there. Thanks everyone and let’s make this year a totally awesome one.”

 

They all started towards the end of the car when Harry thought of something. “Malfoy? A moment longer, if you would?”

 

Hermione, disturbingly quiet throughout the meeting after her first outburst when he’d entered the compartment, shot him a questioning look. He shook his head and waved her off after Ron and the rest.

 

“What do you want, Potter?” the 7th year prefect drawled after the door closed behind her.

 

“Draco,” Harry started again. “I know—I heard—About what happened this summer. Your mother, and your father…”

 

“Officially, I no longer have a father, Potter, or don’t you bother to keep up with the papers?”

 

Harry whipped his wand out, barely noticing the other boy’s posture tensing as he threw spell after privacy spell at the door, windows, and walls.

 

“So you can interrogate and hex me in privacy?”

 

“Stop it, Draco,” Harry huffed, but he was determined to see this done, if nothing more than to be able to tell Andromeda that he had. “I know you got my letter, even if you chose not to reply. You are not my enemy, and I won’t treat you as such. My words were true. I’m sorry about your mother’s death—“  


“Suicide, don’t you mean,” the blonde snarked.

 

“Murder,” Harry corrected, tapping his scar. “In any case, I’m sorry she’s dead. And that there’s nothing I can do to fix that, but my offer still stands—a truce between the sons of the House of Black and an invitation to rejoin the Black Family proper.”

 

“My, my, someone’s been studying fancy words and phrases this summer.”

 

“Thanks for noticing.” Harry barely hid a grimace with a lofty expression of snootiness. It felt uncomfortable, even after a month full of pureblooded trainings crammed into his skull. “Cousin Andromeda has been quite the major general in our bi-weekly meetings.”

 

“Yes, well, it shows,” Draco replied dismissively. “Still, despite my supposed disinheritance, I must decline your charity.”

 

“It’s not charity. I’m serious. I want truce between us. We are not enemies and we don’t have to be bitter rivals, either. If things had been different, we might have grown up as cousins.”

 

The blond scoffed. “I somehow doubt it. The Malfoys and Potters never ran in the same circles.”

 

“Draco, stop being a prat. I need your support this year, with school at the very least. Now, truce?” Harry asked, holding his hand out to the blond.

 

Draco stared at the hand. “I once offered you my hand,” he mused.

 

“And now here we are, seven years later, on the same train to Hogwarts, and I’m offering you my hand in truce.”

 

“We are not friends.”

 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t be civil and friendly-like. We each have agendas and needs the other can help with.”

 

“Almost Slytherin of you.”

 

“Maybe. Are you going to be Gryffidorish and turn down a potentially beneficial arrangement because of bruised ego and past events?” he challenged.

 

Draco’s silver-grey eyes narrowed. “I should have been head boy. If my father—“

 

“Draco. You are not your father, and you make a damn fine prefect for Slytherin, but we need the entire school, this year especially, our year, and you just never got enough of the other Houses to support you. There was ever a contest.”

 

“I really do hate you,” he muttered, but he reached out and took Harry’s hand, squeezing it.

 

“I don’t much like you, either, but I recognize you as family, and I will help you, if you need my help, even if I don’t like you.”

 

Draco nodded. “Then we are agreed. Is that all?”

 

“No, one more thing. I want to meet with Slytherin house—all of the Houses really, but Slytherin first.”

 

“And just what do you think you’re going to achieve? Threat them all into submission?”

 

“I don’t make threats. You know that, Draco. Can you see to it, tonight, after the feast, that everyone is gathered and ready?”

 

“Professor Snape usually addresses the entire House after the feast.”

 

“Good. That’s fine, then. And Draco—I do meant it. If you need anything—“

 

“Don’t strain yourself, Potter.”

 

Harry sighed and let the weave of privacy spells release. Now he just had the quidditch captains to deal with—which should hopefully go pretty smoothly—and Hermione… who he hoped was somehow, somewhere blowing off steam right now or he was likely to be hearing it for a while.

 

*

 

Harry managed to wheedle away nearly another hour by walking the length of the train, avoiding his own compartment in favor of dropping in on others and greeting the first years. He knew he was avoiding Hermione, but he wanted to give her as much time as possible to get over the minor fact that he had made head boy and hadn’t immediately told her.

 

Truth of the matter was, when he’d first found out he’d been selected as head boy for the year, he’d turned the offer down. McGonagall had wasted no time in sending the badge back to him, informing him there was no mistake and he was the student chosen to represent and lead the school for this school year. When he’d again tried to decline, the Deputy Headmistress had arrived in person to personally return the badge and threaten to hex some sense into him if he didn’t shapen up.

 

“Mr. Potter, the decision was unanimous,” the scottish matron announced, sitting stately upon the Dursley’s living room sofa. “Yes, Mr. Potter, all of the professors were in agreement as to your selection.”

 

“But, the war…” he had sputtered, staring at the gleaming badge Professor McGonagall had placed on the coffee table between them. “I’m already a huge target for Voldemort. My being head boy will only make Hogwarts a bigger target!”

 

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Potter,” she shouted him down sternly. “While I appreciate your position in this war, I will remind you, Hogwarts is first and foremost a school for young people to learn. A diverse family made up of many people with unique histories, but we all manage to get along within her walls. That being said, the school is always and has always been a target for those miscreants who would wish to derail and topple our society.

 

“You, Mr. Potter, are a natural leader, and I and the other professors all know that you will do whatever necessary if or when it should become necessary to protect the students. Therefore, you are simply the best and only choice for head boy. I will leave you to make arrangements with Ms. Granger, who has been selected as head girl for the school year. You will find directions as to your responsibilities in the first letter that was sent. You do still have it, don’t you, Mr. Potter?”

 

“I, er, yeah. Yes, ma’am. It’s in my room.”

 

“Very good then. I shall see you and your classmates on the first, Mr. Potter,” she announced, standing to leave. She seemed to hesitate, and then turned back to him. “And, Harry, I want you to know, you were my choice for Prefect three years ago, but Professor Dumbledore felt you already had so much responsibility. I know the quidditch captaincy never made up for that slight, and I’m sorry.”

 

His head of house had disappearated with a crack before he could respond, leaving the head boy’s badge and a young man with a lot on his mind behind.

 

That had been three weeks ago, and once he’d finally accepted the fact that he would be head boy, he’d begun thinking of what it was he liked about Hogwarts…and what were some ways it could have been better. He wouldn’t lie—just not tell many people—but he’d taken a lot of ideas from things he’d overheard Dudley and his gang talking about with their schools. In between homework, housework, and all the extracurricular studies Remus and Andromeda had him doing, he’d drawn up some plans and ideas, which he was actually looking forward to discussing with Hermione.

 

Just as soon as he knew it was safe to go near her.

 

He hovered outside the door, wondering if it was too soon or if he should run another circuit of the train, but the decision was taken from him by an airy voice calling out through the door.

 

“Do come in, Harry. It’s not much fun to spend the entire trip standing out in the corridor.”

 

He grimaced but slid the door open, surveying the room. Neville and Luna, of course, were still there, as was Hermione, but Ron was strangely absent. “Where’s Ron?”

 

Hermione sniffed. “He seemed to think I was going to tear into him or some such.”

 

“He went to check out something Dean brought,” Neville replied quickly, shooting nervous eyes towards the resident lioness before looking back at Harry.

 

Harry sucked in a huge fortifying breath before looking back at Hermione. And then, whatever he’d been about to say, died on his lips. “You’re not really angry at him,” he said instead.

 

“No, I’m not angry,” Hermione agreed. “I’m hurt.”

 

Definitely worse.

 

“I didn’t not tell you sooner to hurt you,” he began.

 

“No, I know that.” She shot him a little smile. “You were really brilliant in there, Harry. And it sounds like you have some really great ideas for the year.”

 

“Yeah? Thanks. I’ve actually been looking forward to running them by you and getting your lists.” She huffed out a little laugh and shook her head, nodding him towards the open seat next to her. “So we’re good then?” he asked, slipping onto the bench.

 

“Well, it depends. Just how much thought have you put in to this scheduling for the DA expansion?”

 

“Uh, not too much,” he confessed. “Every time I try to think about how to schedule it, my brain just sorts of implodes. I thought that was one thing I was definitely going to need your expertise to get going.”

****

*

 

The Great Hall seemed smaller than normal, or maybe it was just that there were more students than normal. For the first time in over a decade, Hogwarts was welcoming a class that was nearly double its graduating class. There were only thirty-two seventh year students. Harry hadn’t thought much of it when he was younger—after all, there were only thirty-one students in the class below them, but then, the class of ’98 would be the smallest class of the century. Not even during Grindlewauld’s reign of terror on the continent did Hogwarts’s numbers drop so low. In fact, Hogwarts’s population had swelled during those times thanks to so many wizarding families encouraged to send their children away from the contentment. Harry wouldn’t even been thinking about it now if it weren’t for the fact he was hungry and Professor McGonagall had just led in a line of sixty-one first years nervously waiting to be sorted.

 

Sixty-one little eleven year olds, all anxious to learn magic, Harry thought. It would take forever to get them sorted. Beside him, Ron moaned and let his head fall to the table. Hermione hissed at him to behave.

 

Would next year’s class be larger still, he wondered looking around at the house tables. He’d never really noticed, but there were definitely more of the younger years than the upper years. He would have to get Hermione to look over the numbers and work out the details for his mentorship plan. It wouldn’t work if the younger years continually outnumbered the upper years, at least not the way he’d thought it would.

 

The prefects had seemed opened to his idea about expanding the DA. The mentorship program he wanted to implement was an expansion upon that. Mostly, it was like a big brother or big sister program, where older students would be encouraged to “adopt” a younger student.

 

Harry’s idea was that the mentorships would help students get a perspective on their lives, while guiding the younger students. Also, double- or triple mentorships could be implemented for within a house by year and blood status (relative experiences or alternative perspectives) as well as out of the house and within subjects. A mentor should be a person you can go to… to vent, unload, share vexations, any maybe get some good advice.

 

It was something Harry wish he’d had more formally. Sure, he knew he could go to the Weasley twins for most things, but that wasn’t the same. Really, he ended up going to Hermione for most things, but there was so much Hermione simply didn’t know, not because she wasn’t smart, but because she hadn’t been raised in the wizarding world, either. A mentor, someone older who could have helped guide Harry…

 

It was all part of his school improvement plan. Harry wasn’t concerned about the academics—that was the teachers issue—but Hogwarts was a boarding school in Scotland, and there was only so many times one could go to Hogsmeade for a bit of extracurricular. There needed to be more, in his opinion, and this was his chance to make some changes that had the potential to go a long way.

 

The sorting was underway and well into the C’s. He’d missed the Sorting Hat’s song, he realized. Oh well, he’d have to ask Hermione what hints and suggestions it had made this year. It must have been something big from the way she kept looking pointedly at him. He clapped politely as another firstie was sorted, this one a Slytherin, and thought about what he wanted to say to that House.


	3. A Meeting of Snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's summer was not so pleasant as Harry's.

  **A Meeting of Snakes**

 

~THEN~  

 

“Draco,” Harry started again. “I know—I heard—about what happened this summer. Your mother and your father… I’m sorry about your mother’s death—”

 

“Suicide, don’t you mean,” the blonde snarled.

 

“Murder,” Harry corrected, tapping his scar. 

 

~NOW~

_-Sunday, 29 June, Madrona, Cornwall-_

  

He had failed. The meddlesome old windbag was still breathing. He had failed, and now his family would pay the price. He swallowed nervously, fighting to control the shivering of his body as he knelt on the hard stone floor, head bowed low, neck exposed, horribly vulnerable before the snake-like monster, perched negligently on his thrown.  His mother and father knelt to either side of him, bracketing him, as if they could shield him from the disastrous outcome of this meeting.

 

He had failed.

 

He could feel the heat and rage of the dark lord, pressing down against him like a physical hand forcing his back further into a bend, practically scraping his face into the floor, as if it could open up and swallow him whole, hiding him from the oppressive weight of the dark lord’s magic. It scalded him, singed his skin with fiery heat to the point he half-expected smoke to rise from his form.

 

He had failed.

 

Plot after plot, foiled or … failed.   He shivered again, anxious, unsure what exactly would happen to them now—other than pain.  Pain, excruciating pain, was always a given when meeting with the dark lord. He wished it wasn’t so, but if it meant leaving with his life today, and with the lives of his parents, he would gladly accept the pain that was sure to come.

 

“I confess myself…disappointed,” the dark lord spoke finally, and to either side of him, he and his parents tensed even more.  “I placed my faith, and the honor of your family, in your hands—gave you a simple task to complete—and you failed.”

 

“My Lord,” his father began, practically simpering, and it soured his stomach to see and hear his proud, noble father, humbling himself like so. This was not the way things were meant to be.

 

“Silence,” the dark lord hissed, angry red eyes glaring at the patriarch before flickering back over mother and son. “You have been less than successful since my return. So much so, you could be considered a hindrance.”

 

That’s right. It wasn’t just his failure that saw them here today, on their hands and knees.  His father had failed, too.

 

“Perhaps it would be a favor to simply wipe the Malfoy name from the ledgers here and now, start afresh with one of the cadet lines…”

 

Surely he wouldn’t really kill them…would he?  He needed all the followers and supporters he could get! And the Malfoy name still—

 

“Oh, how the mighty Malfoy name has fallen, fallen into the mud. One could question whether you’re any better than the mud bloods now,” the dark lord taunted.  “One, simple task, Draco. Was that too much to ask? One little death, and you and your family could have regained the honor and prestige of being back amongst my best…. But you failed me.  Just as your father has failed me.  One time too many, I think.”

 

“Milord, please allow—“ Narcissa rushed to say, but she was not allow to continue.

 

“No, Narcissa. My patience is gone. What fondness I might have held for you and yours—your cunning mind and skillful manipulations of those around you—they are worthless to my now. Even in light of your… disability, I might have reconsidered, if your son had proven to be successful—“

 

“I tried,” the boy broke in, hating how weak and pathetic he sounded.  “I did. But nothing worked!”

 

“Then you did not try hard enough,” the dark lord snapped. “Pitiful. You are not fit to bare my mark,” the maniac continued on a hiss, snatching the boy’s arm and digging his wand into the flesh. 

 

Draco screamed. As painful as the branding was, removing the Dark Mark was triply so. It was not something he even knew was possible—removing the dark mark from a follower’s flesh—but this… this pain… it was worse than even his aunt’s cruciatus.   

 

He was aware of nothing but the pain, originating from his arm, where the dark mark burned and sizzled, racing up through his arm into the entirety of his body. Racing like liquid lightening, setting his body on growing waves of torturous pain.

 

With a final, savage tug, the last of the mark’s color drained away, leaving the boy’s arm pristine and lily-white once more.  The dark lord stepped back, studying the whimpering and panting teen. The boy’s parents twitched with abortive movement. Oh, how they wanted to go to their son, shield and protect him.  He almost laughed at the pitiful, weak sight of it.

 

He slumped, unable to support himself any longer, and his mother was there to catch him, bolster him up as she had always done.

 

“Since you are of no use as one of my knights, you shall serve the cause with your body,” the dark lord announced, more than a little disdainful. “You are… pretty enough, I suppose. Surely some of my followers will find you somewhat appealing.  Lucius, you will need to see about procuring a new heir, and since Narcissa is of no help to you there, a new wife as well, I should think.  Good bye, my dear,” the dark lord continued, lifting his wand, the killing curse already falling from his lips.

 

 

The summer between Harry’s sixth and seventh years had been a whirlwind of experiences and learning. 

Of course, the summer wasn’t all good.  Sure, he didn’t have to deal with his relatives overly much, and yeah, once he was seventeen, he was able to finish all of his chores with a wave or two of his wand. Plus, he managed to eat well, stay healthy, and even exercise quite a bit.  He was probably looking better than ever—and he was pretty sure he caught the eye of a witch or two to prove it! 

But then, there’d been the dreams. Nightmarish visions, more like.  And the attacks—both on muggles and magicals.  Voldemort and the Death Eaters certainly weren’t holding back anymore.  It seemed that after the failed attack on Hogwarts last year, Voldemort was madder than ever.

 

And Harry’d been an unwilling witness to the torture and murder of countless victims. Narcissa Malfoy among them.

 

It was one of his more haunting memories. Perhaps because he’d actually met the woman before. Perhaps because he knew she was Andromeda’s little sister, Draco’s mother.  Whatever the case, the image of the proud pureblooded woman being treated so horribly…

 

It made him sick.

 

And what was worse, he knew Draco wasn’t the only Death Eater’s child to have lost a parent recently due to the madness of a Dark Lord.

 

“Gather around,” Snape called, striding purposefully into the Slytherin common room.  He turned, his robes snapping around his legs, dark eyes piercing into the faces and minds of all his current snakes. 

 

“You are here because the sorting hat saw something within you,” he began, his low melodic voice weaving through the gathered teens like an invisible spell.  “Not because of your blood or your family. You are here being within you there burns a cunning ambition. Whether it is to be the best, the most talented, the strongest, the most revered—it does not matter. This house will stand together, protect one another from those who will attack us, and make no mistake, they will attack you.  Slytherins are shrewd and cunning, strong leaders. We must always set a strong example for the rest of the school of what it means to be magical.  You will not fail; you will not embarrass me, this house, or yourselves.”

 

He stabbed them with another piercing stare before calling, “Potter!”

 

Many of the students gathered muttered and murmured, surprised when he stepped forward. He’d followed Snape in, but the other man demanded such attention that few had realized he was even there.  Snape took a step back now, and Harry step into the center spot light.  He turned and tried to look at as many of the snakes as possible before beginning.

 

“Good evening. As many of you are already aware, my name is Harry Potter.” He ignored the twitters and snarkisms. “It is not “the Boy Who Lived” or “The Chosen One”.  It’s Harry. Potter, if you prefer.  I’m your Head Boy this year, and that means I’ll be working closely with your prefects to make sure it is a successful year.

 

“Yes, I know there is a war going on outside our gates. I don’t care. Hogwarts is a school. We are children becoming young adults. We have pressures put on us from our families. I don’t care. I will tell you the same thing I told the prefects this afternoon:

 

“We are different. We come from different Houses, different families, different backgrounds.  But we are all here for a similar reason.  We come to Hogwarts as children, eager to learn about Magic. Hopefully, when we leave, we’re better equipped to become meaningful members of our world.

 

“Inside Hogwarts, it should not matter what side of the war your family supports.  Inside Hogwarts, we must set aside our personal differences and stand together.  Slytherin are proud. They are smart and ambitious. They analyze all the possible outcomes before deciding exactly what should be done. And then they see it done.”

 

He studied them. Waiting, weighing his next words.  “I’m not going to try to convince you to fight on either side of the war. That’s a decision each and every one of us must make for ourselves.  What I am going to do, however, is show you my memories.”

 

At this, Dobby popped in with a pensive Harry had found in one of his vaults.

 

“I’m going to show you my memories not to change your mind, but so you will be better informed to make your own decisions, choose the path that will lead you to your ambitions. I tell you know, the Headmaster did not approve of me doing this.  He thought you were too young to see these memories.” He studied them in silence again, watching them fidget uncertainly. “Perhaps you are. They’re not pretty. Many of them haunt my nightmares.”  He found Draco’s wide eyes in the crowd.  “I’m sure some of you already share those nightmares. However, I firmly believe, and Professor Snape has agreed with me, that you need to know what your choices are.”

 

He raised his wand to his temple and began extracting the first memory he’d chosen to share.  “It’s not pretty. It’s not valiant or noble. It’s merely the truth as I know it.”

 

And he showed them. Showed them everything he could think of as important.  Many of the girls didn’t last, many of the younger years also turned away. Only the upper years were left, shaking, staring.

 

“Why are you showing us this?” Goyle asked hoarsely, eyes red-rimmed from unshed tears.

 

“So that you know,” Harry answered.  “So that you understand.  There is no glory. There is no honor. There is no power. There is only misery, treachery, groveling, humiliation and death.”

 

He cleared his throat and motioned Dobby to take the pensive away again.  “Now you know.  Tom Riddle was a wizard with amibition. He was cunning and powerful, but he has no honor of family or magic or tradition. I ask you to ask yourselves: what do you actions prove?   What is it you really want? You are the future of your families, the future of our world. What history will you make?”

 

No one answered him.  With a nod towards the professor, Harry turned and left.

   

 Draco woke with a strangled scream, fighting against the bedsheets that smothered him. Gasping, shaking, wild eyes searched the darkened space surrounding him, as if to reassure himself that he was safe.

 

He was safe.  He was alive.  His mother… was not, he remembered, his chest exploding in a new wave of pain, as if someone were reaching into his center and squeezing, ripping, tearing at his heart.  His beautiful, wonderful mother… dead.  Killed. Murdered.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that even now, months later, threatened to consume him.

  

 He hadn’t seen it—wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or not, really. It had been… chaotic. The dark lord had cast the killing curse and his mother and father had both somehow managed to push him out of the way, but he’d cracked his head on the stone floor and was too dazed to process what was really happening around him.

  

 When he came back to his senses, aware once again somewhat of what was happening around him, he realized he was in a strange room with his father shouting into the floo. His mother absent.

  

 “Tell him he has a deal,” his father snapped. “But Draco is out; he must go; he can’t stay here. He was serious—he was going to send him to the houses. I will not allow my son to be drugged up and used as some brood mare! It’s not safe for him to stay here. Not now. You can tell him that I’m sending him away, and when I’m finished, I’ll be by to discuss the details. ”

  

 Lucius withdrew from the fire, using his cane to help himself up.

  

 “Father, what is happening?”

 

“Balpey!” Lucius called, practically shouted.  It was as close to frantic as Draco could ever remember seeing his father. “Quick. Come along, Draco. We have very little time to get you away.  Balpey!”

 

  “Master calls?” a diminutive house elf replied, cowering close to the settee Draco had been lying on.

  

 “Quickly. Pack up all of Draco’s essentials, now! Rosmy, where are you?”

  

 “Here, Master Malfoy.”

  

 “Good. Pack all of Narcissa’s belongings and make sure they are moved safely to her vault,” Lucius ordered the petite elf that appeared next. “You don’t have much time, so recruit whoever you need to see the job done efficiently. Understood?”

  

 “Yes, Master Malfoy. Rosmy be seeing it done now.”

  

 “Come along, Draco, we don’t have much time,” he continued, sweeping from the room and expecting his son to follow.

 

What else could he do but follow? “Father, I don’t understand. What’s happening? Did Mother—is she--?”

  

 “She’s gone,” Lucius snapped, striding purposefully down one corridor of the unfamiliar house.  “You must also be gone before the sun rises. I know this will be difficult for you, but it is important that you survive, Draco. Do you understand? You are the last of the main line here in Britain, but it’s not safe for you to remain.”

  

 “You’re sending me away? Now?” Draco cried in disbelief.  Why now, when he’d failed, when his mother was gone, when—“What about you?”

  

 Lucius turned and snatched up Draco’s arm, squeezing painfully, causing the boy to wince. “I cannot leave, I wish I could, but it simply isn’t possible. That is why you must go now. Do you understand?”

  

 “No,” Draco protested, but his father whipped around and began striding down the hallway again, his hold on Draco’s arm sliding down to the boy’s wrist ensuring he was tugged along behind him.

  

 “It will be announced that upon the death of your mother, you faltered in your faith to the dark lord’s cause,” Lucius continued.  “I will, of course, be severely hurt and disappointed by your disloyalty and therefor publically announce your disinheritance as the Malfoy heir. This should give you some breathing space, at least for some short period of time. In the meantime, I will send you to my cousins’. Out of sight, out of mind, and perhaps, in a month’s time, it might be safe for you to return. But if not…”

  

 “Return? Why do I have to leave in the first place?”

  

 “Draco, will you stop and think! The dark lord wants you dead, wants all of us dead. You cannot stay here in his line of sight.”

  

 “You’re not safe, either!”

 

 “No, I’m not,’ his father agreed with a sigh.  “But right now, you are more important.”

 

 Lucius studied his son’s face, devouring the sight of him.  “You are my son. You are the rightful heir to the Malfoy name. You must do everything in your power to survive, Draco, and I will do my very best to see that you do. Even if I have to deal with the old coot himself.”

 

 Draco gasped.  “Dumbledore? You’re going to Dumbledore? But—“ 

 

 “I want you to understand, Draco,” Lucius continued, steamrolling over his son’s shock. “The dark lord you know now, the dark lord you’ve met and seen, he is not the man he was when I was your age.  He’s not the same man who earned this family’s loyalty. He’s… warped. Insane.  He cannot be allowed to continue unchecked or it will surely be the end of us all.” 

 

 “But he’s the dark lord,” Draco returned. “He’s supposed to—“ 

 

 “He’s supposed to do a lot, but he’s not, and he hasn’t for a long time,” Lucius cut in. “Now, Balpey! Balpey! Where is the infernal elf?” 

 

“Balpey being here, Master.”

 

“Finally. Good, do you have all of Draco’s essentials?” 

  

“Yes, Master. They being packed and ready for your orders.” 

 

 “Good, bring them here,” Lucius ordered as he strode into a parlour room. “Draco needs to be away as quickly as possible.

 

With a snap of the elf’s fingers, several large trunks arrived. A flick and swish of his wand saw the trunks shrunk down to pocket-size before Lucius sent them flying over to his son to catch.  “You’ll be on the continent for at least the rest of the summer. Perhaps for the remainder of the year,” he told his son. “I trust you will be able to keep up with your studies if it is deemed not safe for you to return in September?

 

“Father

 

Lucius closed his eyes against his son’s lost look and breathed deeply. “Draco,” he finally said, opening his eyes once more and grasping Draco’s shoulders. “You are and always will be my son. I know this last year has not been easy for you, for any of us, and I can’t promise it won’t get worse in the weeks and months to come, but…”

 

“I love you,” he rushed out, daring to cut his father off.  “I’m sorry,” he added, unable to quell the welling emotion of his failure. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“This is not your fault,” Lucius corrected. “None of this is your fault. It never was.”  He pushed the blond hair, so like his own, away from his son’s face.  “I’m proud of you, Draco, and I love you. Please keep yourself safe.  Now, go.  Take this portkey and go,” he said staunchly, shoving a figurine of a lovely woman sitting on a rock.

 

“Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,”  Lucius said clearly, and Draco disappeared from England not to be seen again until earlier this morning. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~******~~~~~~~~~

 

Draco Malfoy had returned to England, returned to Hogwarts. He returned home, because make no mistake, England was his home.  Was he scared? Yes, but he wasn’t going to be a coward about it.  He knew his father would have preferred for him to stay with his cousins in France, but he just couldn’t.  He couldn’t.

 

He had spent the time with his extended family, haunted by the nightmares that chased him relentlessly.

 

Several days after arriving at the family chateau, word had arrived from England. A news clipping announcing the death of Lady Malfoy. Almost immediately the gossip mongrels started whispering about suicide.  Days later came another announcement, just has his father had warned him: disinheritance.

 

Draco shivered.  How low the Malfoy name and family had fallen.  He knew the other purebloods had watched him eagerly, anxious to see if he displayed any of his family’s noteworthy inheritance. He knew they were all talking about him, calling him a blood traitor, a penniless son of a Death Eater, a murderer or worse.

 

He was none of those things, and he’d be damned if he hid away, cowering from those who would dare besmirch him.

 

Draco Malfoy was not a blood traitor. He was very aware and proud of just what pedigree and to what extend he could trace his family lines.  From the noble Black Family, the Rosiers, the Flints, the Blustrodes from his mother to the LeStrange, the Cresswells, the Quinceys from his father, he was a pureblooded British wizard.  He did not need some wings of a night fury or the allure of a veela to make him special.

 

Dracor Malfoy was not a penniless, disinherited son. Even if his father truly did disinherit him from the Malfoy line, he still had access to his personal trusts—the ones from his grandparents and his mother.  True, they were nowhere near the sum of the formidable Malfoy fortune, but they were still quite a pretty penny.

 

Draco Malfoy was not a murdered or worse.  The very simple fact that Dumbledore still lived, despite the dark lord charging the youngest Malfoy with the vetted headmaster’s death…  Draco eyes squeezed shut and he shook.  Last year had been the singly most horrid year of his life.  His father being thrown into Azkaban, his branding as a marked Death Eater, his assigned mission… kill Dumbledore.  And then, finally, his mother’s death. Yes, singularly the worst, most horrible year of his life.

 

But he would be damned if he let others continue to dictate his life and his choices.  He was practically a free man now.  Seventeen—legal in the wizarding world—with his own funds. Seemingly not beholden to any one cause. He could do practically whatever he pleased.

 

If only he knew what it was he wanted.

 

Draco sighed heavily and flopped back over in his bed.

 

The letter from Potter had been an unexpected overture. He believed the other’s sincerity—bloody saint Potter.  He just hadn’t known what to do with it.  In the end though, it was that letter which finally cemented his decision to return to Hogwarts.  And despite everything—all the whispers and sly little glances shot his way—Draco was glad he’d returned. Britain was his home, and this was where he belonged.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... this all should be fixed up now. I'm still incredibly annoyed that several paragraphs of the scenes I worked on today got lost in the cut & paste game. ~_~ Next, I plan on wrapping up the Harry-Hermione scene before taking tea with the headmaster. Then it's a trip to Hogsmeade. :) Sorry for any confusion today while I was working out the edits.


	4. Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's inheritance begins to have a more... wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am effect. Dub-con.

________________________________________  
9/5 – Hermione’s Imprinting*

Hermione finished her sentence, complete with period at the end, before looking up. Just moments before Harry had burst through the door with the crackling energy and heat pouring off him that followed him everywhere he went these days, but he hadn’t said or done anything since. She studied him, standing just inside the doorway wearing a confused look as he stared into space. The summer had been kinder than previous summers; he had grown some, filled out, but she could still see the eleven year old boy who had become one of her first friends in the young man standing before her.

“Harry, what is it?”

He sucked in a heavy breath, letting it out slowly in one of the calming exercises she had tried to teach him last year. “Are you wearing perfume?” he asked, surprising her. He took another step towards her—when had he nearly crossed the room, she wondered.

“Uh, no, not at the moment, no,” she answered a bit confused herself. “Are you trying to say I smell?” She honestly meant it jokingly, but then his eyes fastened on her and her breath caught, all teasing forgotten. There was something in his eyes, some light or intensity that scared her, scared her for the very reason that it made her pulse jump and her breath short. “Harry, did—did something happen?”

He was at her side now, and she didn’t remember him moving. What was happening? What—he leaned in over her, his heat and energy tingling along her back and side, racing along her nerves, and pressed his face against her neck and shoulder, burying his nose against her skin, and she shivered. 

“Harry, I—“ She had no idea what she would have said next because just then she felt his tongue slide over her skin, and it was like a switch had been flipped. All her rational and logical thinking had been cut off. Her quill dropped to the parchment, ink splattering over her Charms essay.

“Sweet,” he whispered, but it wasn’t in his normal voice. It was deeper, more gravelly, and it excited her beyond reason. A cry caught in her throat, leaving only a tiny whimper as his lips ghosted up her neck and across her jaw. And then they were upon hers, his tongue pressing past her lips and spearing into her mouth before she could even think of what to do in response.

She wasn’t really experienced with kissing, but for some reason, she wasn’t worried about if she was doing it right. She wasn’t analyzing what he was doing; she was just feeling. And right now she was feeling need. The need to be closer, the need to touch, the need to be touched. It was all overwhelming, threatening to drown her in the very need for sensation.

His hands were on her arms, pulling her up from the chair, and then they were under her sweater, molding her breasts and dragging another cry from her as she tore her mouth away from his and sucked a huge lungful of air greedily. He didn’t stop, and she got caught in the material of her own sweater as he tried to rip it off her. She was left to free her own arms when he abandoned the process to feast on her breasts, sucking and biting the modest mounds through the material of her bra. 

He growled, honestly growled, before pushing her back onto the table. She reached for him, trying to keep his heat against her naked skin, and he was there, covering her. His power, his magic, wrapped around her and she felt safe and protected, as if nothing could ever hurt her—seconds later she was split apart when pain ripped through her as Harry pushed himself inside her. She wasn’t even aware of when he had pushed her skirt up or torn off her panties.

He gave her his mouth again, whether in an effort to muffle her screams or soothe her, she didn’t know. All she knew was he didn’t stop and she didn’t push him away. She held onto him desperately as he continued to pump and thrust inside of her. She sucked on the tongue he thrust into her mouth even as her body tried to adjust to everything else. His fingers were digging into her hips, shooting sparks of pain through her nervous system even as other pains and hurts tried to mellow out. And then his mouth disappeared from hers, and he buried his face against her throat. She groaned… and then shouted as his teeth sunk into her flesh combined with a particularly deep thrust of his hips.

And then it was over. His pumping hips eventually slowed before coming to a stop. His tongue laved repeatedly over the throbbing ache against her neck. His hand ran up and down her side, the nails lightly scratching her, making her shiver. Or that could just be shock settling in, her mind provided. And she realized suddenly, she could think again…and thinking really wasn’t such a good thing right then. And then Harry moved against her, her Harry; his hips snug against her throbbing sex, and his stomach flesh against her belly, and his mouth covering hers, inviting her to suck on his tongue. His body rumbled against hers, a loud purr of satisfaction, and then he was lifting her up against him and carrying her away.

She had one last moment to wonder if it was a spell gone wrong or a curse before her back slammed into the soft duvet covered bed and she lost all sense of logical thought again.

The school did not see their head boy or head girl for the entire next day. When they did reappear late Sunday afternoon, it was to find Hermione tearing through library books with a purpose and Harry flying with a death wish.

It had taken nearly two days for…whatever it was to run out of their system. When Hermione awoke Sunday morning it wasn’t to Harry moving against or inside of her, as had been the case with several of her previous wakings. In fact, she noted with surprise that she was alone in the room. She moved to get up and groaned as her body protested. Gods, but she ached in places she didn’t even want to contemplate. 

She heard the shower running and hesitantly made her way towards the connecting bathroom. She found Harry there, as she had expected, but unexpectantly, he was curled up beneath the showerhead, rocking back and forth with his face buried against his knees.

“Harry?” she called tentatively. He jerked, cringing away, curling up tighter against himself. She hesitated only another moment, his nakedness seeming almost a moot matter after the last day and a half, and went to him. As she got closer, she could finally hear him repeating over and over, “Oh, god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh, god.”

“Harry?” she called again, reaching for him, but he screamed and scuttled away from her. “Harry, stop,” she commanded in her most demanding tone. “Listen to me, Harry.”

He stopped moving away from her, but he couldn’t quite stop his shivering and shaking. “Harry, look at me,” she tried, but he shook his head frantically, eyes squeezed shut. “Look at me,” she ordered. Slowly, his head climbed out of his knees. His eyes darted over her body, widening almost comically, before panic took over and he hid his face again.

“Harry,” she asked softly, feeling a little hurt. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha—“ he sputtered, looking up with surprise. “No! I—Oh, god, Hermione, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what—I, oh god, I’m so, so sorry,” he trailed off with a moan.

She shuffled closer again until she could cuddle him close. He fell into her lap with little else prodding him and cried. She sat numb against the bath tiles as the warm water showered down over them and stroked his back as he cried himself out. She had no tears, only questions, and she wondered if that made her a little strange. Not that she was like most other girls anyway. After all, how many girls could say their best friends were two boys—and wasn’t that a sad fact, she mused.

No, she wasn’t mad or angry at Harry. And now that the strange compulsion was off of her, she wasn’t mad or angry with herself, either. She began categorizing what she knew: Harry had been out making rounds Friday night while she chose to finish up her Charms essay. He had come back, and what had he said? Something about a smell, she thought. She would have to ask him, if she could calm him down. A smell, and then he had kissed her. No, he had smelt her neck first, and then licked her, she remembered, and then they had kissed. And then they had done a lot more than just kiss.

She hadn’t been naïve or innocent, but she had been a virgin, and that first coupling had hurt. That fact alone would have told her that something was off with Harry—she just couldn’t picture Harry as an inconsiderate lover; ignore the fact that before this weekend, Hermione had had a difficult time imagining Harry as any kind of lover. Which made her reaction to him all the more strange. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him…more that she wasn’t IN love with him. But that surely hadn’t been an issue when it came to sex. And that’s pretty much what it had been, she thought with a little sadness. They hadn’t made love, it had been pure sex. Multiple times, she recalled, shifting and stretching some aching muscles.

So, whatever had affected Harry had also transferred to her. But what was it? She couldn’t think of a spell or potion off hand that would affect more than the person it was cast upon. She would have to research, of course. It was just a good thing she had already finished up the majority of her weekend work. Before she could head for the library, however, she would have to deal with Harry.

Her sweet, gentle, confused Harry, she sighed mentally. She spelled the water off, petting his back a few more times before finally tugging at him to sit up. He really had become a nice looking man, she thought abstractly. He wasn’t nearly so scrawny under his clothes as she always pictured him to be, but then again, she had to remind herself, he wasn’t twelve anymore.

“Harry, look at me,” she asked him, forced his head up. “I’m not mad, honestly, Harry. But I need to know—Friday night, what happened before you got back to the room. Did you meet anybody, hear anything strange? Eat or drink anything after dinner?”

“Hermione, I—“ He swallowed and forced himself to look away from her. “I—no. It was pretty quiet. A couple of Hufflepuffs sneaking from the kitchens. A Gryffindor and Slytherin making time up in a fourth floor classroom; that was a little weird. And a Ravenclaw who was trying to sneak into the restricted section, but that was all. I thought about stopping by the kitchens myself and bringing something back, but then decided against it and just—I ran into Snape a few corridors down. We exchanged our customary greetings, snide remarks and belittling comments and all, but it wasn’t anything really out of the ordinary.”

“You seemed angry when you entered,” she prompted.

“No, not angry, just annoyed that that greasy git is still here,” Harry corrected.

Hermione frowned. “You mentioned you smelled something, asked if I was wearing any perfume,” she reminded him.

“You don’t wear perfume,” Harry responded, but he was frowning in thoughts of his own. “There was a smell in the air. It was… delicious. And all I could think about was finding it and…and… well, devouring it,” he finished, somewhat embarrassingly. 

“Devouring?” she repeated. “So there was a smell that made you hungry?”

“Yeah, only, the smell, it was coming from you, Hermione.”

She puzzled over that one, wondering if she had been the one hexed and not Harry, she began to rerun her night, but she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. “Well, I’m just going to have to do some research,” she said to herself, but Harry groaned.

“Hermione, seriously, you don’t—“

“Harry, you can’t honestly tell me that what happened is anything like our normal selves,” she reproached. “I love you, Harry, but I’m not in love with you, and I know you’re not in love with me. As such, I sincerely doubt that without outside prompting you and I would ever have done what we did, and so, I think it’s important to know what led to such events so that we may be better able to prevent them from happening again in the future.”

“I—“ He was redder than Ron had every accomplished. “All right, Hermione. And, and—I’m sorry. Sorry I hurt you and all.”

She bussed a kiss against his forehead affectionately. “It wasn’t all bad, Harry, and all things considered, losing your virginity to your best friend isn’t such a horrible thing, don’t you agree.”

“Oh, god, Hermione, I’m so sorry.”

She pushed him away and stood. “Get over it, Harry. Like I said, I’m not angry with you or anything.”

“But—“

“No buts about it,” she said determinedly. “It’s in the past. Let’s move forward.”

“Will you at least let me heal you?” he asked shyly.

“Heal…?” she began but then caught a reflection of herself in one of the mirrors. Her eyes went wide. She was literally covered in bite and scratch marks and small bruise colored patches across her body. She just stared, dumbfounded, as Harry stepped up behind her, reached across her and dragged his hand down her body, limbs and all. 

She could feel the tingle of his magic as it seeped into her skin, blending with her own magic, and slowly, before her eyes, the bruises and scratches began to fade and heal. His fingers ran along each indent his teeth had left, but the marks themselves were more stubborn to fade. He hesitated only a breath before finally moving his hand over her sex, cupping her, and she gasped as his magic slid inside her, caressing and healing all the sore and aching bits. She shivered, leaning back against him for support as his magic continued to fill her. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hands reaching up to grip his arms, and she moaned heartily as her orgasm washed over her. 

She tilted her head back, twisting up until she could reach his mouth, and the kiss was sweet and gentle and everything she knew him to be. And when she turned into him and he wrapped her up in his arms and his magic, she knew what it was to be loved and made love to.

________________________________________

9/19 – Hermione’s 18th  
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Ten days later, and Hermione had discovered nothing in the library that really helped. Needless to say, the Head Girl was rather put out. She’d determined that a creature inheritance was the likely culprit, but that was as far as she’d gotten, and she didn’t want to go to Harry with her suspicions until she had more to show. There were literally hundreds of creatures and magical beings that used scent to determine possible mates. Most magical beings also possessed the ability to heal their mates. But that wasn’t enough to tell her what creature Harry might possibly have inherited.

It didn’t help any that she was busy with school work and all the little projects Harry had tasked her with. The mentorship and study groups were a great idea, she easily admitted. They’d commandeered several unused classrooms and worked out a rotating schedule that allowed everyone a chance to lead and review, or follow and learn. Already three groups had set up regular meetings and the students were saying they felt more confident in their lessons. She hoped they could continue this for longer than the first few months. 

The mentorship was moving a lot slower to get going. The simple problem of the under years outnumbering the older years was a big enough hurdle, but then you threw in other elements like houses, blood status, sex… and things just got complicated. Still, they had started attempting to pair up possible students last week, and things looked promising.

Their priority was the first years, and they’d asked certain second and third years to take them in hand. This week they planned to focus on pairing up the fifth years with sixth and seventh years. Eventually, the third and fourth years would pair with the second years; the fourth and fifth would take on the third years; and the seventh years would take on the sixth years.

They had a plan. They were putting that plan in place. If only things looked half as promising for the situation between her and Harry, she sighed thoughtfully.

She’d used this last week and a half to continue studying him—his behavior, his actions, even his eating habits, but nothing struck a chord with her. She had noticed he wasn’t really eating all that much. He would say he wasn’t all that hungry, but he would continually sample the different foods, as if searching for something he liked.

There was an air of confidence and authority he exuded—one she knew he’d always had, but now it seemed… Well, it seemed as if he was more comfortable with himself now. A lot of that could just be maturity, she knew, and the responsibility of not just the DA but the entire school as head boy probably had a lot to do with it. Still, it was nice to see him being the strong and confident wizard she always knew he could be. Watching him interact with the other students, with the other houses… seeing how others naturally followed his lead…

And then there was the continually brushing against her, all casual and unobtrusively, not even overly noticeably unless one was on the lookout for such things. With her hypersensitivity towards Harry now, though, she was noticing every little thing it seemed. Plus, she was aware of how Harry had used to detest even the most casual of touches. She had her suspicions of why, but had always felt a little helpless on how to help him. It was too late now.

Despite not eating much, he was still growing. She would guess he’d grown another three centimeters, just in the last three weeks of school. And his hair was actually growing, too. Not a lot, but it was definitely longer. And his eye sight was improving—he’d already told them about that this summer, and she knew it had to have something to do with his inheritance since it started after his birthday.

But it just wasn’t enough!

She huffed, closing another useless tomb. How was she supposed to find out how to help Harry? It wasn’t like there were any Potter family members left to ask about any creature inheritances, and Remus already said he didn’t know of anything. They were stuck, and she absolutely hated it.

“Come in,” she growled, pushing her hair away from her face and facing towards the door to greet whoever had braved the Head Boy and Girl’s chambers this evening. 

It wasn’t the first time visitors had come seeking her or Harry out, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last this year, either. Oh well, that’s the price one pays when they set up an open door policy, she reminded herself.

“Surprise!” several voices cried out as more bodies then she’d expected came spilling through the door. 

“Happy birthday!” several more called out as Prefects from all the houses and her year mates and several more Gryffindors piled in, shooting sparks from their wands.

Luna, Ginny, and Hannah Abbott swished and flicked their wands about the apartment, sending ribbons, banners, and balloons flying.

“All right, everybody,” Harry called over the others. “Make room for the cake!”

And in he came with a large monstrosity of a confection. “And I promise you, it’s more edible than Hagrid’s,” he teased, grinning at her. “And it’s even carrot, so it’s somewhat healthy!”

She just laughed as he set it down before her.

“What is all this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ron shouted out. “It’s a birthday party!”

“Yes, it’s not every day our Head Girl turns eighteen,” Ginny grinned at her.

“You’ve been doing so much already this year,” Hannah spoke up. “When Harry mentioned it being your birthday this week…well, we thought we’d like to do something nice to show you how much we appreciate you.”

“Speak for yourself, Puffer,” Draco drawled, leaning against the wall but watching them all avidly. “I’m just here for the cake and extra points. Plus, Potter’s promised to give us a special lesson on the Patronous Charm.”

Hermione shot Harry a questioning look, but he just grinned and shrugged.

“Well, this is lovely, thank you,” Hermione said, turning back to the others.

“Come on, Hermione, cut the cake already!” Seamus called from somewhere in the back. “We have a bet going on how good a cook Harry is!”

“You baked this yourself?” she asked, no little bit surprised.

“Had to promise to let the house elves clean my chambers for an entire week,” he grinned sheepishly. “Starting tonight.”

“Harry!” she yelped, scandalized.

“Cut the cake! Cut the cake!” a chant began up, and helpless to do otherwise, she drew her wand and expertly divided the cake into equal pieces.

“I hope there’s enough,” she worried as plates magically appeared and Susan Bones started divvying up pieces to plates and passing them out. Someone else conjured forks, and another person produced butterbeers and pumpkin juice.

“How is it?” Harry asked nervously, watching her take her first bite. “It’s not too sweet, is it? I couldn’t tell, but I’m pretty sure I remembered the recipe right.”

“It’s delicious,” she gushed, quick to take another bite. “I didn’t know you could bake.”

He shrugged.

“Here, try a piece,” she insisted, holding a forkful out to him.

“Oh, no, uh, you know, it doesn’t—ah,” he tried, but she swiftly bypassed his protests and pressed the utensil up to his mouth, forcing him to either eat it or wear it. He opened his mouth obediently and accepted the morsel.

Sudden catcalls and whistles broke them out of the moment.

“Look at you two,” Seamus called, “like a bunch of love birds, you are!”

Even Ron was laughing at them as Lavender clung onto him.

“Really, Potter, what sort of illicit dealings do you two get up to all alone in here?” Zacharias chimed in.

“Oh, you know,” Hermione answered with fake blasé. “Wild orgies and satanic rituals.”

“What kind of rituals?” someone whispered while the other laughed in shocked amusement at the head girl’s reply.

Someone set up a wireless while others conjured up chairs and sofas, and soon people were intermixing naturally in the relaxed social setting.

“This was a really nice idea,” Hermione murmured as she leaned back against Ron on one of the conjured sofas. Lavender was snuggled up to his other side while Harry was resting back on the floor with his head in her lap as she leisurely finger combed his hair. 

It was as she had said: nice. Mellow and relaxed. No one was really talking about homework or classes, but they were still all getting along and talking. 

“We should do something like this more often.”

“I agree,” Ginny perked up. “At least once a month. It could be like a birthday party for everyone born in that month, or it could just be a regular social.”

“Mm, sure,” Harry murmured. “Add it to the schedule.”

“We’re going to be really busy this year,” Hermione mused. “With everything you were mentioning and our Newts this year, too.”

“Oooh, do tell,” Pasny called from another sofa, having heard her. “What does our illustrious head boy have planned for us? He keeps hinting but he hasn’t given any solid clues yet!”

“A lot!” Hermione laughed as the others answered in a chorus of groans and moaning protests. “Well, all right. Here’s one plan,” she began, and suddenly even the wireless was turned down as everyone tried to listen in.

“Quidditch.”

“What about quidditch?” Ernie asked loudly.

“What about,” Harry answered, “If we had more than just the four house teams?”

“More than—but—“

“There’s always been four teams!”

“What do you mean more?”

The shouted questions kept pouring in, but Harry stayed where he was, eyes closed peacefully as Hermione continued to card through his hair. When the voices finally died down, it was with one silky command.

“Explain yourself, Potter.”

Harry grinned and peeked an eye open at Draco. “It’s simple, really. More teams means more players which means more interaction between the houses. We could still have the four house teams, but in addition, we could have junior and senior teams, too. Let the first through fourth years field the junior teams, and fifth through seventh years can field the senior teams. Let’s say we have eight interested junior teams, that would be 56 students, right? And if we had, oh, five senior teams? That would mean another 35 students, in addition to the 28 of us now who are on a house team… that would be nearly half the school more actively involved in quidditch. Plus, it’s a great opportunity for us house captains to field for reserve players while allowing the players themselves to have more game experience. The junior and senior teams could even been mixed houses,” he concluded.

Someone whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind being able to play a little more quidditch.”

“But won’t it take away from our practice time now?”

“Nah. If anything, it’ll allow your team to practice in a real game, right?”

“Who would captain these other teams?”

“What would they be called?”

“Well, I’d imagine each team would need to get a staff member to represent them, and they’d probably get to pick their own names, but it would have to be approved by the headmaster or someone.”

“We could be the badgers!”

“Ha, don’t you think it better to pick something a little less house-orientated.”

“You could always use horntails or chimera?”

“You lot would be better suited as the kneazles.”

“Hey!”

“How about the nundas?”

“Well, your breath is certainly foul enough.”

“What would you name your team?”

“I don’t have to, or have you forgotten I’m already on my house team?”

“That’s besides the point!”

“Well, regardless of names,” Harry said loudly, “I’m still waiting to hear back approval from the headmaster, but I’ll be sure to tell him the prefects and all were all excited about the idea the next time we meet.”

“What else have you got planned for us, Potter?”

“Well, I figured we could have a few more formal dances this year—“ To which the boys groaned and the girls practically squealed. “There are these little socials. Plus, I was hoping to bring back more of the traditional celebrations for some of our holidays.”

“Careful, Potter, some might accuse you of going Dark.”

Harry scoffed. “Traditional doesn’t mean Dark. Besides, I think it’s important that those of us who weren’t raised in the wizarding world learn about and get to experience traditional wizarding celebrations. Not that I don’t like Halloween candy and all, but I know there’s supposed to be more going on, and I’d like to know what.”

“Dumbledore would never allow us to have a traditional Samhain celebration,” someone muttered.

“Have you ever asked?” Harry countered.

“Well, I for one and terribly excited about the idea,” Hermione jumped in. “I’ve read about it, of course, but that doesn’t really replace the actual experience.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Harry agreed.

“It’s sounds pretty ambitious if you ask me.”

“Ah, well, you know, ambition isn’t just for Slytherins.”

________________________________________


	5. Hannah’s Imprinting

9/23 – Hannah’s imprinting

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Harry heard the muffled cries before he entered what should have been a deserted hallway. All thoughts of scolding whoever was out-of-bounds past curfew disapperated when he saw the folded up form of the seventh year Hufflepuff prefect huddled up near the base of Landon Bell-Smythe’s statue. 

“Hannah?” he called out tentatively as he caught sight of her. “Is everything all right?” Her face flew up out of her knees as he approached; wide blue eyes horribly red-rimmed, cheeks splotched and motley as she rubbed furiously at her tears and sniffed piteously. 

“Oh, Harry,” she gasped, shoving to her feet. “I didn’t think anyone would be down this way. Sorry you had to see me like this. It’s—“ 

“Did something happen?” 

“It’s nothing. Really. Zach and I just had a disagreement is all, and I’m being overly emotional, I know. Really, I—“ 

But he was closer now, his mind fogging over as a strange but intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. “Are you wearing a special perfume?” 

“I—What? No,” she laughed nervously as he stepped closer still. “I—“ 

She didn’t know what she might have said for at that very moment Harry had reached her and buried his face against her throat. Places inside of her ignited as her world spun out of focus, and when she came aware of herself and her surroundings again, it was to discover she was in one of the unused classrooms, lying naked in a bed that shouldn’t have been there, and weak morning light was beginning to filter through the windows. And she hurt, all over. Her body ached even in places she’d never ached before!

Hannah tried to sit up, but even that was too painful, and she laid where she was in stunned disbelief until she could finally muster the energy needed to roll over onto her side and curl up into herself. It could have been only a handful of minutes later when she heard the door open and she stiffened. If someone found her like this…

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Harry was urgently whispering. “It was just like last time, ‘Mione. What am I going to do? I can’t stay here if things like this keep happening. Not if I’m a menace to every student!” 

“Calm down, Harry. Just, go back to our rooms and wait for me there. Go on. Go. I’ll be back as soon as I can, and Harry? We will figure out what’s happening,” the Head Girl assured him. 

The door snitched shut without another word passing between the two, and for a moment Hannah wondered if Hermione had left, too, but then the other girl called her name. 

“I know you’re awake,” Hermione informed her gently. “Is it all right if I come over there?”

Hannah didn’t know what to say. If the signals she was receiving from her body could be trusted, it was a very real possibility that she had slept with some person. And if Harry’s actions and her memory from last night were taken into account, that person was Harry Potter. And now here was Hermione, Harry’s best friend, who many believed was Harry’s girlfriend even if the pair hadn’t official announced anything—alone in a room with her. Hannah felt horribly sick. Not only did she not remember the event her body was screaming had happened, but she had committed the horrible grievance of sleeping with another girl’s boy!

“Hannah, may I sit down?” 

She started—when had Hermione crossed the room? Wide blue eyes rose up to stare at the Head Girl with fresh tears already swimming in them. “I don’t know what happened,” she confessed. 

Hermione was on her in an instant—swooping down and pulling her up into her arms and lap as a fresh wave of confused tears poured out from the blonde. Hermione just held her, soothing her hair and her back and conjuring handkerchief after handkerchief for her tears and running nose. 

When at last it seemed her tears had run out, Hermione continued to just hold and pet her for several minutes. 

“Hannah, I know how scary and confusing this all is, but I need your help. You know Harry would never willingly hurt you—“

“I know, I know!” the blonde assured her. “It’s just—I don’t know how this happened! I mean, he never even hinted that he would like me like that, and—I always thought that you—and now…I don’t know!” 

“I know,” Hermione soothed. “I understand. Something has happened, Hannah, to Harry. Something happened with his Inheritance this summer, and we don’t know what. And of course Harry’s parents aren’t here to help us figure anything out, and he has no surviving relatives, either, so we’re trying to figure it out on our own, to understand why these things are happening to him.” 

Hannah stared at her, stunned. “You mean…” She licked her lips nervously. “It’s happened before. He’s done this to someone else?” 

Hermione frowned over her answer, holding tight to Hannah’s hands. “Two weeks ago,” she started. “The first weekend after term began. You remember all those rumors that started because Harry and I disappeared that weekend? Well, that Friday Harry offered to cover my rounds so I could look something up. He came back and… He said he smelled something—and then he kissed my neck. Two days later, I woke up much in the same state you’re in right now.” 

“I’m sure you weren’t crying hysterically,” Hannah sighed, upset with herself. 

“No, but Harry was,” Hermione confessed. Hannah looked surprised, so the Head Girl continued. “Just like today, he was scared and confused. He didn’t know why or how it had happened, and all he could think about was that he’d hurt me and how I would hate him. How you will hate him.”

“I don’t hate him!” 

“No, neither do I, but he’s convinced himself that I did. Much like he’s probably convinced himself right now that you will hate him because he’s hurt you.”

“Harry’s not like that!” Hannah protested. “He doesn’t just maliciously hurt people. And—and he didn’t really hurt me, per se. It’s just—I’ve never—before—and—”

Hermione hugged her. “Can you tell me what you remember?” 

So Hannah did, telling about her fight with Zach and hiding out in one of the less popular corridor to have a pity-me moment when Harry found her. 

“He asked you about a perfume, too?” Hermione questioned. “That’s interesting. A common factor. And you said he kissed your neck first.” 

“Well, he sort of sniffed me first, and then,” she was blushing a fierce red. “He licked me,” she whispered. “And I just forgot about anything else.” 

“Yes, exactly,” Hermione agreed. “Hannah, do you think you’d be okay to be around Harry again. I mean—“

“I know, I think. I mean, we have classes together and it would be odd—“

“No, more than that,” Hermione corrected, coloring also. “I mean, after I woke up that morning, I was hurting as well. But Harry—whatever it is that’s happening to him, he has a way, his magic, he can help heal you so you won’t hurt anymore.” She looked determinedly at the Hufflepuff prefect. “He’s back in our rooms right now, probably beating himself up over this, but if you were to come with me…” 

She trailed off, waiting for the other girl to decide. 

“I—but how will we get through the hallways?” Hannah asked dazedly. “My clothes… and I’m not even sure I could stand let alone walk very far…”

“We’re witches, aren’t we?” Hermione replied smartly, producing her wand. In a few short minutes they had repaired Hannah’s clothing and combined a minor healing charm with a glamour that concealed most of the bruises and bite marks. With the added boon of a Notice-Me-Not charm they made it to the Head Boy’s and Girl’s quarters without incident, only to find Harry tearing apart the room and flinging his things into his trunk. 

“Harry Potter, what do you think you are doing?” Hermione practically screeched. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snapped back. “I’m leaving! It’s not safe if I’m here. I’m—“ 

“Not going anywhere! Running away won’t help us solve anything. Now, I think—“ 

But Harry wasn’t paying her any attention. He’d seen Hannah standing slightly behind Hermione and all color drained from his face. “Oh, gods. Hannah, I’m—“ 

“It’ll be all right, Harry,” she interrupted, stepping out from behind the head girl. “Hermione and I talked about some things, and I think I understand a bit more what happened.” 

“Well, that makes one of us,” he muttered before shaking his head. “Listen, I really am sorry. I never intended to hurt you.” He reached up, his fingers running along a bruise mark along her throat. The discoloration fade away beneath his finger tips and Hannah’s breath caught. 

Hermione shot a startled look between the two of them before shoving both Harry and Hannah into the head boy’s chambers and shutting the door firmly behind them. Sagging against the door, Hermione took a moment to try and organize her thoughts, but her emotions kept swimming up to try and choke her. 

It was silly, of course. There had never been anything even remotely romantic about hers and Harry’s relationship, but ever since that weekend, Hermione would find her thoughts leaning towards that direction. Thinking more about Harry—things he said, things he did, and how he looked— than her studies. 

And then there was the way her body seemed to be hyper aware of him at times. And after the way they had made love, it was really only too easy to understand how and why her body and mind would react this way to him, but it didn’t help her deal with it. 

She wasn’t even sure how Harry was feeling about matters between them. And now this whole thing with Hannah! It was practically the same, she realized: a scent, a sniff, a lick, followed by a complete loss of one’s sanity and crazy, mad sex that left one sore and aching. In all her searching Hermione hadn’t found a spell or potion that fit the criteria. She hadn’t told Harry yet, but she’d begun searching through creature references. Although it was not often openly encouraged in the wizarding world, it was quite possible for certain races and species to cross populate with humans. People like Hagrid and Professor Flitwick and Fleur Delacour were examples of that. 

Hearing a moan float through the door Hermione was still leaning against, she hastily jumped away, aiming a silencing charm as she went, before snatching up her bag with parchment and quills and her books, and hightailing it for the door. It was Wednesday, and she had the first morning block free on Wednesday, but she could always visit the library. 

 

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Harry stroke Hannah’s cheek, studying her face. “I’m sorry. I hurt you. I never meant to.” 

Something inside her that she hadn’t even realized was tense softened. Hannah puzzled against his palm. His other hand came up to cradle her face as he looked directly into her pretty blue eyes. 

“Hannah, do you trust me?” 

“Of course, Harry.” 

“You shouldn’t,” he breathed a second before his lips brushed over hers. 

She moaned as tingles of awareness raced up and down her spine. Her arms rose of their own accord to wrap around his shoulders and neck. His hands were warm and soothing as the slid from her face to her throat, down her shoulders and arms and up her torso, inside her robe. It felt like she was being wrapped up in the softest cashmere, and then his hands slid over her breasts and it felt like being stung by a lightning hex. Fire quickly replaced the tingles as her body responded greedily, wantonly, to his. 

He pulled away from her mouth to lay kisses over her breasts, squeezing and molding them with his hands. 

“Your tits are amazing,” Harry told her reverently, running his tongue over the various bite marks covering the delicate skin. 

“Harry,” she moaned, hands running up to rest in his hair. And then she gasped in pain as her back banged into the door behind her. 

Harry was off her in an instant. “Oh, god, Hannah, I’m sorry. I—“

“It’s not that,” Hannah waved his protests away, still wincing. “Hermione did a healing charm earlier, but it didn’t cover everything.” She tried stretching her back, rolling her shoulders, which caused her bared breast to wiggly and jiggle and dance. 

Harry was captivated, much to her amusement. 

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Ah, turn around, and, uh, let me see?” 

“Why?” 

“Well, um, before, when with Hermione and I was my magic or somehow anyway it helped heal all her bruises so I thought you and well, just turn around,” he finished. 

Hannah blinked, her mind furiously trying to work out what he had just said. Finally, she decided to do as he asked and turned around, allowing her robe to fall to the floor. “Are you sure you don’t want me lying down,” she tried to tease, but it didn’t chase away the nervous fluttering or the heavy aching between her legs. 

“Uh, the only place to lay down in here is one the bed. Or the floor, but that wouldn’t be very comfortable, I wouldn’t think.” 

“Oh, well.” She hesitated, looking back at him and then sweeping through the room. They were in his bedchambers she suddenly realized. How had she missed that fact before? And there really wasn’t all that much in here despite the size of the room. She looked at the bed and then decided. If he refused, that was one thing, but she really hoped he wouldn’t. 

She removed the skirt Hermione had helped her repair and dropped it onto the floor near her blouse and robe. Then she climbed up onto the bed, noting its softness before stretching down and out. Harry hadn’t moved away from the door. “Okay,” she said, having to clear her throat first to do so. “Go ahead and work your magic, Harry.” 

Harry looked at the young naked woman lying in his bed and swallowed. He was already hard and excited from their earlier petting and kissing. Actually, seeing what he’d been touching just a moment before was amazing, but more than that, it was humbling. Hannah had always been a presence in Harry’s life, since his first day of Hogwarts. Not nearly as important as Hermione, it was true, but a presence none-the-less. He’d been aware of her on at least some level—she was a friendly face, a kind smile, an uplifting voice in the mob. And now she was a beautiful naked woman in his bed. Curvy and soft, her normally pale skin was literally covered in colorful bruise marks and scrapes. Across her back, the skin looked like it had been rubbed raw, and he realized it must be a result of their coupling against a stone wall followed by another session along the floor. 

Harry climbed onto the bed and started at her shoulders; he ran his hands down her back all the way her thighs. Again and again he caressed, his hands infused with his magic until all of the bruising had melted away. 

“That feels absolutely amazing.”

“Really?”

“Really. Better than a hot bath. I feel all relaxed and mellow.”

“All relaxed?” He wasn’t feeling very relaxed. In fact, he was still very much hard, harder than he could ever remember, and he let her know, rubbing his penis against her ass as he lightly brushed his fingers over her hips. She shifted, her hips rising up to meet him. 

“Hannah.”

“Yes.”

“Are you—I mean…?” 

“Yes, Harry.” She rose against him again, and this time, he spread her legs to either side of his and sat up, coaxing her up with him. She protested moving at first, but finally was seated in his lap, her butt pressed against his pelvis as he continued to rub against her. His hands were on her breasts again, and he sucked at her throat. 

“You really do have the most amazing tits,” he groaned. 

Frustrated, she grabbed one of his hands and buried it between her legs, moaning. He was a quick study, and soon Hannah was moaning in release. With his hand already at work between her thighs, it was only a little work before he was fully inside her, completely, evoking a second orgasm right on the cusp of the first. Minutes later he joined her. 

He breathed heavily against her shoulder as they rested. Before long she started shifting as her legs tired and cramped up. It was as they were both lying stretched out, Harry semi-casually tracing his hands over Hannah’s chest and stomach, up her sides and back over her shoulders—that she irrevocably drenched the warm afterglow moment. 

“I’ll have to stop by Madam Promfrey’s during lunch today,” Hannah sighed. 

Harry stiffened, pulling away to better look at her. “Are you still hurting somewhere? I can—“

“No, no, it’s not that,” Hannah rushed to assure him, coloring prettily. “It’s just, that, I mean, I wasn’t, you know, intending to have relations with anyone, not that I mind, really. It was very enjoyable, Harry, honestly. But I wasn’t prepared, you understand. But Madame Promfrey is sure to have some IC potion in the hospital wing. It’s frowned upon, of course, but then, in a school with teenagers, I can’t imagine her NOT having some.” 

He frowned. “Icy potion? Like for a burn?” 

“Ah, no. IC. The Interruptus Concepteous Potion,” Hannah corrected. “Witches take it after they’ve engaged in an unanticipated affair. As I said, it’s frowned upon by most because, really, relations of such nature should never be unanticipated, but it does happen, obviously.” 

“Interrup—you mean, like a day after potion?” 

“A day after—well, yes. I suppose you could call it that.” 

“You mean, so you wouldn’t get pregnant.” 

“Well, yes. I mean—Harry?”

But he wasn’t listening or even seeing her right then. Instead, he was thinking about what Voldemort and his Death Eaters would do to anyone Harry loved, especially a child. 

And then he started thinking about the possibility of a child. His child. A baby. They were still in school—their NEWT year, no less. He still had a megalomaniac and his merry band of psychopaths out to kill him. Having a baby right now was… was tantamount to idiocy and stupidity and… A baby. A little piece of him and some other person. A possible family. 

Harry had never thought too much about having kids before. He was a seventeen year old boy, after all. He’d never played house when he was in primary, never babysat or interacted much at all with any neighborhood kids other than to occasionally distract Duddly and his gang from picking on someone younger. And then he was in Hogwarts, too busy being a wizard and staying alive every year to think very much about the future other than wonder if he would live long enough to graduate, let alone survive the war. 

But it wasn’t like people stopped living and marrying and having kids just because there was a war going on. His entire form was proof of that. Just because Voldemort was after his head didn’t mean he couldn’t go, fall in love, get married, have some sprogs… It just meant any wife and kids he had would have to be especially careful, and in possession of a healthy, hefty dose of paranoia quite possibly. 

But as much as he had never thought about making a family, he’d never come close to even contemplating having a baby with a woman he wasn’t married to. He wasn’t dumb. He knew sex led to babies. He’d only had sex with two women, twice each, but both times he hadn’t used protection, which meant… Hannah or Hermione could be pregnant, with his baby. 

But Hannah was talking about stopping it, and it was Newt year, so Hermione would probably definitely be against getting pregnant. But… a baby… 

Harry could feel his magic stir up inside of him, slowly reaching out, beyond him , searching. A baby… A bit of himself in a tiny, new person… 

“Harry, I could—I mean, I know you’re the last in line, and all,” Hannah hesitated, searching his face and then pushed on. “Did you want a child? I could, I mean, there’s a spell. If I were, that is, with Madame Pomfrey’s help, I could, if it was to be that I did get pregnant, then I could cast a spell and it would make it so I wouldn’t lose the baby, I just wouldn’t have it now. And then, after Hogwarts, I could have the spell removed and have the baby then. I mean, if that’s something you would want, of course. I wouldn’t force anything on you or anything.” 

“Hannah, I can’t—I mean,” Harry sputtered, struggled. “With Voldemort still out there... I’ve already put you at risk because we’re friends. If it got out that you were pregnant with my baby…”

“I’m already at risk, Harry,” she cut him off, rather sharply. “Voldemort killed my mother last year. The only reason I didn’t become a ward of the state is because my godmother was able to take me in until I turned seventeen and legal. And we’re not even sure if I’m pregnant, so how is it anyone else is going to find out? One thing at a time, Harry. One thing at a time. Would you, Harry Potter, agree to consider me, Hannah Abbot, a candidate to bare your child?”

The question, while worded funnily, filled Harry with a sense of longing, and… something more. He felt his magic welling up again, responding to her words. It seemed to stretch and extend, reaching out beyond his body, reaching towards Hannah. He watched her breath catch and a shiver run down and up her body, pricking goose flesh along her arms and legs. Her blue eyes fluttered shut. He felt his magic, felt it reaching into her, caressing her magic, wrapping around and filling her, with himself. 

“I accept your offer of consideration,” he found himself answering before he could shake away the spell. And it was a spell, he realized as he felt her magic rise up in response, caressing him back. 

Hannah nodded dazedly, leaning heavily against him, rubbing against him as if to warm herself, or simply because the magic still rushing between them felt so deliciously good. He leaned into her, pushing her back into the bed, relishing in the rubbing of his skin along her skin. The tiny hairs the caught and tickled along their limbs, the plushy curves of her body as he pressed harder against her, the breathy moans that pulled from her open lips. 

“I want to,” he panted. 

“Mm, yes,” she breathed, arching up against him again. 

He could still feel it, their magic, swirling around each other, blending and mixing and dancing in a chaotic turn, urging them together. He could see it, he realized, wafting off their skin, radiating and pulsing and…

“Harry, please,” Hannah cried airy, frotting against him, and there was no way any healthy male could ever turn down that invitation. He might only remember snippets of the previous night—the heat, the frenzy, the frantic rounds of coupling—but he remembered her scent and taste well enough that he thought he might never forget it, and the sound of her voice, crying out as he entered her, brought her body again and again; the warmth and ecstasy he found in his own release. He reached for that again, surging forward to join their bodies again in that most intimate of ties. 

“Harry!” she entreated, reaching up to pull him deeper, embracing him with arms, legs, her whole body… urging him on, fast, hard, more, more, more until he didn’t think he had any left to give. Just the deep, rhythmic press of his pelvis to hers as he buried himself again and again and again inside her warmth, until their magic tightened, pulled, crackled, snapped, and popped between them, leaving them both gasping in the aftermath. 

 


	6. A Visit to M. Pomfrey

9/24 – visit to M. Pomfrey  
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Hannah found Hermione as her Arithmancy class let out for lunch and snatched the Head Girl away from the throng of seventh years intent on lunch. Hermione sputtered a weak protest that died quickly upon seeing the resolute expression on the Hufflepuff prefect’s face. The blonde led them on a convoluted route through the corridors until even Hermione was confused at where she was being led, until the Infirmary doors were there before them. 

Maintaining her vulture-like grip on Hermione’s hand, Hannah continued her dedicated pace into the hospital wing until the doors were fully shut behind them and Madame Pomfrey was already emerging from her office. 

“Good morning, dears,” the bustling woman greeting running a critical eye over the pair. “Neither one of you seems to be in poor health,” she observed. 

In lieu of a greeting, Hannah drew her wand. Holding the carved ivy wood steady and pointing straight up before her, the blonde young woman stepped forward. “On your magic and your vows as a mediwitch, do you swear to keep my secrets sacred unto yourself?” 

Madame Pomfrey pulled herself up rigid before copying Hannah’s pose. “I so swear,” she vowed. “Though, I assure you, it is unnecessary. Now, ladies, how can I be of service?” 

“I need to know if I’m pregnant,” Hannah announced. Behind her, Hermione gasped, but before her Madame Pomfrey was sighing. With a wave and an incantation neither girl was familiar with, a silver-blue mist enveloped the Hufflepuff prefect. Then it melted away. 

“No, Miss Abbott, you are not with child,” the mediwitch pronounced. 

Hannah practically slumped where she stood, but it wasn’t relief she was feeling. “But I can be,” she asked desperately. “Everything is all right with me, right? I can get pregnant?” 

“I assure you, you are a perfectly healthy young woman. But you are still young yet. You have your entire life ahead of you, plenty of time for babies and children. Right now you should be focusing on your schoolwork and studies. I believe this is your NEWT year, am I not correct?” 

“And if I’m killed before this war ends?” Hannah snapped. “Will I still have time for babies then? Will it matter if I pass my NEWTs if I’m dead?” 

Hermione stepped up, grasping Hanna’s shoulders and squeezing gently before stepping in front of her. “Madame Pomfrey, if you’d please, the same spells for me,” the Head Girl requested. “For pregnancy and fertility.”

The mediwitch’s mouth thinned in a disapproving frown, but a moment later the diagnostic charm was cast, the same silvery-blue mist floating to envelope Hermione before dissolving. The prognosis was the same: fertile, but not pregnant. 

“One more thing, Madame,” Hannah spoke before Hermione could escort her out. “There is a charm that would delay pregnancy after conception.” 

“I am aware of it,” the mediwitch responded, lips thinning further. 

“I would request your aid in performing it, should it become necessary.” 

“One would hope that it would not be necessary,” Madame Pomfrey replied a bit sharply. 

Hannah looked at her. “I am not that one,” she informed her before turning and leading the way out. 

Hermione suffered a moment on indecision—wanting to ask about the spell mentioned, wanting to follow Hannah—but finally turned and followed the Hufflepuff out of the Infirmary. 

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Harry was brooding. Officially, he was working on his charms essay that had been assigned this week, but in reality, he was sitting in the library, at Hermione’s table, brooding. Hermione and Hannah hadn’t shown up to lunch, and his mind was on overdrive, wondering where they were, if they were okay, what they were doing, did they eat somewhere else? His leg jittered under the table, a rapid staccato, and his muscles tensed and tightened, ready to hurl him from his chair at a moment’s notice. His quills and inks sat untouched as he stared unseeing at his books and parchment. 

“Hey, mate! Did you finish that charms essay yet?” Ron asked, depositing several books onto their table that he had no real intention of reading, but it would look better if they were there when Hermione finally showed up. 

“What? Oh. Yeah. Um…” He dragged himself away from his internal struggles of whether to stay where he was or go off looking for his girls—‘his’ girls?—and started rummaging through his bag for said essay. “Got it done the other night. Why didn’t you?” 

“Had a chess meet, remember? It was Hermione’s idea since you and she are going to be so busy this year.” 

“Right.” And he did remember. It had been one of Harry’s plans for the year to have more clubs and activities at Hogwarts besides quidditch, to help promote school unification and socialization among the houses. It just so happened that Hermione was of a similar mind, and it was her idea specifically to start the chess club first because of Ron. 

Of course, the idea of having more clubs and activities was great…but not very specific. That’s where the other prefects came in, hopefully. They’d started with the chess club, spreading the word to the prefects and on down about a meet for all those interested in the game, meetings tentatively schedule for every other week. Then he’d asked for other ideas. 

They’d bantered around some other games, including the idea of a board game night on alternate Fridays—it was Hermione’s suggestion to include muggle and wizarding games, and Harry’s interest has been pricked, not having played any other than chess before—but they were still working on the practicality of getting and storing the games. No, actually, that was a lie, because they weren’t working on it at all. Harry frowned. Maybe he could get someone else to look into it… 

And he spotted a likely target entering the library right that moment. 

The stocky blond seventh year Hufflepuff entered the library and paused—like a lord overseeing his kingdom, or, rather, and future politician surveying a room for potential. Either way, McMillian spotted Harry soon enough, and the headboy signaled him over. 

“Harry!” Ernie greeting, rather loudly for the library and earned several dirty looks from a group of fifth years who were already being dumped on in preparations for their OWLS. 

“Ernie,” he acknowledge, more sedately. “Got a moment? There’s a project Hermione and I are interested in getting started, and I think you’re just the one to get the ball rolling.” 

“You need a ball?” Ernie asked confused.

“Er, no. No, actually, we want some board games. Wizarding and muggle. Do you think you could get us a collection?” 

“A collection of board games?” 

“Yeah. Doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a few of the popular or maybe some really traditional ones.” 

“To borrow or to keep?” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know just yet. I guess, I guess let’s start with borrowing, and then we can take it from there. See what happens?” 

“When did you want them?” 

“By next Wednesday, say? A week long enough, do you reckon?” 

“I’ll see what I can do, but I won’t make any promises.” 

“Great. Thanks, Ernie. I know you were the right man to turn to.” The Hufflepuff seemed to swell, and Harry told him it was worth a little inflated ego if McMillian was able to get the job done. Now he just had to remember to let Hermione know the matter was underway. 

“And, Harry. What do you think of a political club?” 

“Political club? What do you mean?” 

“Where those with an interest might discuss politics.” 

“Like a—a—a junior Wizengamot? Minus the trials and all?” 

“Yes, I suppose you could liken it to that.” 

“Sound like it might be something. Why don’t you write-up a proposal and share it at the next Prefects’ meeting,” Harry suggested. 

“I’ll do that. And I’ll see what I can do about those board games. Harry, Ron,” he ended in parting, turning away. “Ladies,” he added to the two newcomers before swiftly and purposefully heading off towards a different area of the library. 

“Hermione,” Harry sighed with no little relief, feeling something inside him settle and relax. “H-Hannah. You two all right?” 

“Perfectly. Was Ernie mentioning board games?” 

“Yeah, uh, I asked him to see about collecting some for us,” he informed her, looking both of them over critically. They certainly looked perfect he thought, shifting in his seat as something else started to agree with him. 

“Ron! You’re not copying Harry’s essay are you?! Harry!” 

“What! No!” Ron protested. “Think after seven years I’ven’t learned not to copy from Harry?” 

“Hey!” 

“I’m only looking it over for ideas. See,” he gestured to the books he’d collected earlier. “I’m doing my own work.” 

Hermione looked at the titles and sniffed, pulling out two and pushing the others away. “Here. These will help you most. Harry, will you be here long? Hannah and I need to talk to you privately about another matter. I’m going to take her back to our rooms now.” 

“Uh, no. No, in fact, I’m not getting much done here anyway, so I’d might as well come with you now. Just give me a minute to collect my things and check these books out.” 

“I’ll get the books,” Hermione offered, collecting two texts and taking them up to Madame Prince. Hannah shifted nervously, indecisively between following Hermione and remaining with Harry. 

“What’s going on?” Ron asked, frowning at Harry and then the blonde Hufflepuff. “You’re not really going to leave me on my own here, Harry. Help a mate out. Moral support and all that.” 

“Sorry, Ron. I think Seamus and Dean are in here, too, somewhere. And I know I saw Terry and Michael earlier. Pavarti and Lavendar are over around the corner near the west side.” 

“Nah, never get anything done with those two. Fine. Leave me. See what I care.” 

“Don’t be like that.” 

“I’m fine. Go, take care of whatever it is, but don’t forget quidditch practice, eh?” 

“I set the time, so, yeah. I think we’re good. See you then, right?” 

“Right,” the redhead muttered as he was left abandoned at the table, Abbott trailing closely to Harry as he met up with Hermione near the door and the three disappeared completely. 

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“What’s going on?” he asked immediately after the door closed behind them, tossing his bag into the corner, ignoring Hermione’s huff at his treatment of educational property. 

“Hannah and I went to the Hospital wing during lunch,” Hermione began. 

“Is everything all right?” he demanded, looking from one to the other. “Are you all right? Are you still hurting? You would have told me if you were still hurting right? What did Madame Pomfrey—“

Hannah pulled back from the impromptu kiss and studied Harry’s stunned face. “Hn. What do you know? It really does work.” 

“Harry, we’re fine,” Hermione told him. “Perfectly healthy and not in any pain what-so-ever.” 

“Maybe an achy muscle,” Hannah put in, grinning at him despite the annoyed look Hermione shot her. “But, yes, in perfect health. That wasn’t why we went to see Madame Pomfrey.” 

“Then what—“

“We had her preform the pregnancy charm, Harry.” 

“And, are you…?” he asked, looking from one to the other. 

“No,” Hannah admitted. 

And wasn’t that a stabbing pain of disappointment. Which was crazy, he knew. He’d had these thoughts earlier. 

“We’re not pregnant,” Hannah continued. “But we can still be. Remember the charm I told you about this morning? I have received Madame Pomfrey’s agreement to use it.” 

“What is this charm?” Hermione demanded. 

“It allows a witch to conceive a child and then to, well, put off the pregnancy, like a stasis. It was used often during wars and invasions, when men would go off to battle and it wasn’t safe for a witch to begin carrying a child.” 

“Is there a limit on the stasis?” Hermione asked. “Is it safe for the mother or the child?” 

“There is a limit,” Hannah admitted. “It’s only really safe to carry on the spell for as long as a normal gestation, so, about forty weeks? But that’s still gives plenty of time for us. It means we could safely become pregnant this year and not have to stress over it affecting our NEWTS. Many seventh years end up using it for that reason. Especially those who are betrothed or engaged.” 

“It must be frowned upon,” Hermione postured. 

“Mostly by the old pureblood families because it can be used as a potential line theft.” 

“Line theft?” 

“Well, yes. It’s impossible to tell who the father of the baby is until after it’s born, and if the mother is pregnant before she is married and then released the spell after, the child is legally her husband’s. It was used ages ago to try and counter act the Norman invasion and even the Vikings before them. If a witch was already pregnant and then raped she wouldn’t have to suffer an unwanted child and the possibility of her magic killing her lessened.” 

“WHAT!?!” Even Hermione looked shocked at that. 

“If a witch—or wizard—is raped, there’s a tendency for their magic to lash out and kill them. It’s why it’s such a hideous crime to sexually abuse someone…” 

“But Voldemort—“ Hannah flinched. “He has his Death Eaters out there hurting people all the time!” 

Hannah shivered. “I know, but it’s not like they’re doing, doing that!” 

“But they are,” Harry protested. “It’s horrible. They have a house, like a house of horrors. There’s a room, rooms, with all these people chained to different devices, and the Death Eaters can come and go to any time, use them however they wish. And these people, they are rotated out regularly, there’s always a new victim, a fresh target.” 

“Are you sure they’re witches and wizards and not muggles?” 

“No, no, I’m not sure, but… “

“But it’s disgusting regardless.” Hermione broke in. Hannah nodded, looking shaken. 

Then she did give herself a shake. “But that’s not what we were talking about. Hermione, this morning I offered myself to Harry, to carry his child.” 

“You did?” 

“Yes. It’s, well, family is important, and I know that the Potter Family is centuries old. It shouldn’t be allowed to die because of some—what did you call him earlier?” 

“A snake-faced megalomaniac monster?” Harry offered. 

“Yes, that,” Hannah agreed, “Who didn’t have the decency to stay dead! And Harry’s the last of his line. So it’s really, well, it’s almost a duty, not to mention an honor to aid in the rebuilding of such a distinguished and historic family line.” 

“An honor?” Hermione repeated, shivering. 

“Yes, an honor to be considered a candidate to be a mother to Harry’s child.” 

He felt it again, the tingling rise of his magic, calling out in response. 

“An honor to be considered a candidate to be a mother,” Hermione whispered, looking at Harry standing next to her. 

“I accept your offer of consideration,” Harry whispered in response, closing the gap between them. 

And that was the spell, Harry realized, the same from earlier, calling his magic out, mixing and blending with Hermione’s. Pushing, pressing at them together. 

“Are you two going to have sex now?” Hannah asked. “Because I really don’t think I’m ready to watch, and I’m really not ready to offer to join.”

Harry and Hermione broke apart, staring at each other with something akin to horror and disbelief. 

“We’re not about to have sex,” Hermione gasped. 

“But, you two, you’re … together, though,” Hannah frowned. “It’s all right. I’ll just nip out and, I don’t know. We can get together at a later time. Tonight, or…” 

“We are not going to have sex,” Harry insisted. “Not least because we have Potions in little less than forty minutes.” 

“Ah, well, yes. Potions is bit of a buzz kill,” Hannah allowed with a little shiver, immensely saddened she’d been obliged to continue taking the class herself if she wanted to continue on in her chosen career path. “But you’re going to have to complete the pact eventually, so I’ll just get out of your way now. There’s only Transfiguration first block Friday. We can get together after and… discuss things?” 

“I have History and Arithmacy after lunch,” Hermione corrected. “But, yes. We can all sit down together Friday and discuss this.” 

“What we know, what we suspect, where we plan to go from here,” Hannah agreed, nodding. 

“Yeah, Friday. Sounds great,” Harry mumbled. “Meanwhile I’ll try not to attack anyone else in the meantime, right?” 

“It’ll be fine, Harry. You’ll see,” Hannah tried to reassure him, hesitantly reaching over and rubbing his shoulder and back. “We’ll get this figured out, and once it makes sense, it won’t seem so scary anymore.” 

“And meeting Friday will give us tomorrow to take care of any assignments for the week,” Hermione continued on. 

“We’ll need more than tomorrow, Hermione,” Harry protested. “The professors have really gone a bit mad this year with their workload, in case you’ve failed to notice.” 

“It’s NEWTS’ year is all,” the head girl excused away. “Perfectly understandable and doable if you just keep to the schedule.”

“And don’t forget we have a Prefects meeting tomorrow night after dinner.” 

“Yes, but that shouldn’t take too much time. It’s just a briefing.” 

“I don’t know. There are a couple of things I want to get started now that classes are up and running and everyone’s settled a bit into a routine.” 

“Well, we can discuss that later. Right now you were right. We really should start making our way towards potions. I suspect Slughorn will be giving us another ‘surprise’ quiz like last Wednesday.” 


	7. Completing the Pact

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It was late. Rounds were complete, curfew had come and gone, homework was worked on, and Harry still couldn’t sleep. He was reading in his room when Hermione knocked against the open door. He tossed the book aside, sitting up. “What’s up?” 

Hermione stepped inside but hovered at the entrance, biting her lip and rubbing her thumb and index fingers. A sure sign she was nervous or uncertain about something. “Harry, I was wondering,” the older girl began. 

Although it was late and he was already in his pajamas, Hermione he noted was still in her loungewear. She hadn’t even smeared that face gunk potion she’d taken to using at the end of last year. Her hair, caught up in a messy ponytail, was far from neat or orderly. And yet, somehow, he found the entire picture highly enticing. Harry shifted some more, this time in an effort to hide the effect her proximity had on him. 

“I was wondering if you would,” she began again but then faltered and retreated. “Never mind. I’ll just, good night.” 

“No, wait!” He scrambled up off the bed, tangling in the comforter in his rush to get to her and nearly tumbling to the floor in the process. “Wait, what did you want to ask me?” he gasped. 

“I,” she tried again, squaring her shoulders and forcing herself to look at him in the face. “I was wondering if you would allow me to look at you,” she rushed out, her cheeks infusing with color.

Harry blinked. “Come again?” 

She couldn’t continue looking at him, she found. It was just too embarrassing. “As you’re aware, my experience with boys is rather limited, and so my opportunities to explore and study have been rare. I was hoping, that maybe, you would, I’ve seen pictures, of course. But pictures and illustrations in a book just aren’t the same as a live model, and—“ 

“You want to look at me,” he repeated dumbly, his voice cracking slightly. “Like, naked-like, looking?” 

“Well, yes.” 

He licked his lips, shifting from foot to foot. This was Hermione, he tried to rationalize, and normally he would never even think about getting naked with his best friend, but then considering the things that had been happening between them recently… And really, when had he ever done things normally? The crutch of the matter was, his body was really, really happy with the idea of stripping naked; especially when he could pretty well remember what Hermione looked like underneath her clothes. Sure, he was no stunning specimen of the male physique—he was too skinny, even if he did have some pretty pronounced muscles. Hermione, on the other hand… and turnabout was only fair. 

“Uh, okay. I guess, I mean, sure,” he finally forced his voice to reply. “Uh, where—“

“Here’s all right,” Hermione rushed to assure him, unable to hide the excitement in her voice, which in turn served to excite Harry. It was kind of a rush to know a pretty girl was interested in seeing you naked, after all. 

He debated whether he should try some corny move, like dancing to the strip tease theme or something, but quickly passed on that idea, simply reaching up to start unbuttoning his pajama tops. He was almost done before Hermione left the door way. Turning to drop the night shirt at the bottom of his bed, he was surprised to find Hermione standing right in front of him. She reached out, touching his shoulder before running her fingers down his arms, up again and across his chest. Her fingers brushed over his nipple, and he started, shocked at the titillating sensation. 

Hermione ran her hand down Harry’s chest, tracing her finger tips along the natural contours, detouring to cover some of the unnatural discolorations, remnants of old wounds. Harry sucked in a harsh breath, eyes fluttering shut as his hands fisted and clenched at his sides in an effort not to reach out and grab her. Her fingers brushed against his nipples again, causing his breath to hitch. She did it again, and then she cupped her palm over his chest. 

“Women’s breasts experience different levels of sensitivity and tenderness throughout the month,” she began rattling off. “Do men experience that change?” 

“I—I don’t rightly know.” 

“Probably not, I’d imagine. After all, the tenderness is tied to hormone levels. Still…” She hesitated a moment before darting forward and tracing the dusky brown nipple with her tongue. 

Harry groaned, “Hermione.”

“Still, it’s reassuring to see it’s such an erogenous zone for a man.” She trailed around to stand behind him. “So many scars.” 

He shivered. 

“I’m surprised at how pronounced your muscles are,” she murmured. 

“Quidditch,” he panted. 

Hermione frowned. “But you don’t do all that much. Sit on a broom and chase after a little ball.” 

Harry huffed out a tiny laugh. “Sure you’d say that, but think of all the balancing that sitting on that broom takes. And because we all practice with the Quaffle, there’s lots of catching and throwing going on at practices for everyone. Plus, as a Seeker, I do a lot more acrobatic flying that the others. And then there’s all the work I do over the summers,” he threw in, almost as an afterthought. 

“And these scars,” she noted sadly, and Harry could tell she was tracing them along his skin. 

“Oh, you know. Boys will be boys.” 

“Somehow I doubt if I asked the rest of the Gryffindor seventh years to strip their shirts that they would have even half as many scars as you do, Harry, even added up all together.” 

“What do you want me to say, Hermione? I know they’re ugly.” 

“No, Harry. They’re not ugly. It just hurts to know how much you’ve suffered.” She pressed her lips to his skin, as if she could kiss away the long ago hurts. “Still, your back is different.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s almost like you have extra muscles in your back.”

“Probably from all the lifting and painting this summer. My aunt decided that she wanted a fresh coat of paint on everything—the fence, the garage, the house, inside and out.”

Hermione hummed but didn’t comment. Which was good because her fingers had skimmed down his back and slipped past the waist band of his pajamas, effectively frying Harry’s brain cells. 

“Will you take them off?” 

“Wha-What?” Harry swallowed. 

“Your—your pants. Will you take them off now, please.” 

“Hermione, look, I don’t think—“

“It’s okay. I just want to—to look, to see and—and compare.” 

“Hermione, I’m not—I’m not, you know. I mean, you’re really pretty and—“

“Harry, are you embarrassed about your body or about my seeing it? I’ve liked what I’ve seen so far, and I realize you’re aroused. Is that what you’re afraid of me seeing? Because, if that’s the case, I’ll remind you, I’ve felt you naked before.”

“I—oh gods,” Harry groaned, sucking in a huge gulp of air while he started tugging his pajama bottoms off. 

He dropped his pants. He was still turned away from her, but that didn’t matter all that much. He was naked. In his bedroom. With his best friend. And Hermione was looking at him. Staring at him. Studying him. And worse—she was touching him. 

He groaned as her fingers slid from his back to his butt, teasing the tiny delicate hair that covered his skin, nearly invisible. Her fingers traced down and then up the curve of his ass, and he groaned, trembling, wanting to spread his legs a bit and invite that inquisitive touch to his dangly bits. 

As it was, he was trembling, fighting to stay standing. “Hermione, gods. I need…” 

“Does it hurt?” She asked, and he twitched, surprised to realize that she’d moved so she could continue stroking and feeling up his ass, but so she should see and study his front, too. And right now, her eyes were glued to his penis. Her fingers curled against his skin, her nails lightly scratching him. 

“Touch me,” he pleaded.

She looked up at his face, and she must have seen something because she withdrew her hands completely. A protesting whimper caught in his throat. He wanted her hands on him, wanted her body on his… 

“Lie down, on the bed, please,” she directed, and after only a moment’s breath to process the request, he complied, laying back against his sheets and pillow, legs spread out and open for her gaze, inviting her touch. 

That’s what she wanted, right? The freedom to look and touch every part of his body? And Harry wanted that, wanted her touch on every part of him. Wanted her touch and taste and scent on every bit of him. So he laid back and spread himself wide for her in offering, silently begging her to touch and taste and take from him. 

“I feel compelled towards you,” Hermione finally admitted, still studying the visage before her, eyes eating up the sight hungrily, greedily feasting. 

“Touch me.” 

And this time she did, reaching out and touching his knee. His muscles jumped and spasmed under her fingers as they slowly ran up his thigh, shifting the delicate hairs. Then, emboldened, her palm pressed down, cupping the warmth of his skin. Her other hand came up, reaching for his opposite thigh. 

“Compelled to touch you,” she continued on whispered breath. She leaned over him, rubbing her face against his chest again. “Smell you.” She dragged her chin down the center of his torso before dipping down to tease his bellybutton. 

His hips twitched and jerked. If not for the natural curve, her chin would have been caressing his cock right then. 

“I want to touch you.” 

“Touch me,” he growled. 

And she did, bringing her hands up those final inches that crossed the space from his thighs to his privates, transversing those tiny hairs that grew darker and coarser, teasing her fingers until she slid past and onto silky skin. She’d seen pictures, in books, of course, but this was another example of where books just could not properly prepare one for real life. He was… beautiful, her mind tried to supply. This bit of anatomy that was so different from anything on her own body. It was fascinating, and she wanted… 

Her fingers trailed up and down the length of him, a light caress that was maddening, skimming from root to tip. He reached down and grabbed her hand, forcing her fingers to curl around his shaft and squeeze… Her breath caught, eyes widening as they looked down at him with a mixture of emotions that he didn’t care to analyze right then and there, too caught up in the exquisiteness of her soft hand moving against his most delicate bits. 

“Don’t stop,” he told her, not offering much of a choice, his hand still covering hers, guiding her movements up and down his shaft. Not that she had much interest in stopping as he continued to show her just how he liked to wank, with slow twists and glides and smears and tugs. His other hand reached up and curled around her neck, tugging her back down over him, and she yelped when she lost her balance and went tumbling, sprawling against him. 

He grunted, hips pumping up, as he dragged her face to his and hissed against her lips. “Just like that. So fucking perfect, Hermione. You’re fucking perfect. Feels so bloody brilliant. I’m gonna come, Hermione. I’m gonna come all over your hand. Your fucking perfect hand, on my cock, and it feels so fucking good, Hermione. Gonna come.” 

“Harry! I want—I—mphf!” She wasn’t given the chance to tell him want she wanted. His tongue pressed into her mouth even as his penis pressed into her hand, and his movements sped up, jerkily, desperately until he cried out against her, body trembling under hers. She felt the sticky wetness of his cum coating their joined hands, still moving over his penis but slower now, gentling, until finally he lie panting but still beneath her. Even his kisses had eased back into a nuzzling rub of skin against skin. 

“Give me a moment,” he murmured against her cheek, causing her to shiver. The one hand at her neck was still squeezing, gently massaging, keeping the sparks and tingles that raced through her alive and charged. 

“What—what for?” she questioned, fingers tangling with his, gliding and smearing cum from her hand to his. The sensation was…intriguing. 

Green eyes opened, bright, luminous, and… something she wasn’t sure but sent those shivers racing through her at an accelerant tempo. 

“To return the favor,” he told her, rolling them over, pressing his naked body into hers as she fell into the mattress, and she realized for the first time that although he was completely naked, she was still dressed. 

“Harry,” she moaned, head falling back as his mouth closed over her throat. 

“I want to touch you, Hermione.” His hot breath caused goose flesh to prickle down across skin. “I want to taste you.” His tongue was like wet fire, searing and burning her, and then his teeth scraped against her skin. “All of you.” 

She undulated below him, hips pressing up to rock against his pelvis, cradled and frotting against hers. Her hands clenched against his, even as he pressed them down into the mattress up near the pillow cradling her head. And she felt she could do little more than lie there, gasping for breath and reveling in the fiery sweep of emotions he managed to evoke within her. 

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, Harry, touch me.” 

And he did. 

His hands reached for the hem of her lounge shirt, pushing and wrenching it up, forcing her arms up over her head and freeing her upper body to the cool night air. And then he paused, took a moment to force himself to slow down and just look, like she had. And what he saw was beautiful: Hermione, laying half naked in his bed, chest heaving under the weight of her panting breaths, skin flushed with arousal and maybe just a hint of self-conscious embarrassment, and her breasts… 

He groaned, reaching up to cup one exquisite breast, test its weight and texture, marvel at how perfect it felt in his hand. “Fucking perfect,” he whispered again, daring to look up into those brown-brown eyes.

“Beautiful and perfect and mine,” he told her, falling over her to reclaim her mouth. His tongue breached her lips, thrust in again and again before sucking her tongue back into his mouth, encouraging her to kiss him back as both hands continued to play and explore her breasts. Finally he pulled back, dropped down to her chest and began laving and bathing her breasts in scalding kisses and scraping bites. She continued to writhe and undulate beneath him and he growled, bucking forcefully between her thighs. 

“Do you feel that, Hermione? Can you feel how hard I’m getting, again, because of you?” 

“…Harry…” 

“Amazing, beautiful, perfect Hermione,” he whispered against her teat. “You’re going to make me come again, from just the sight, smell, touch of you. Hermione…” He groaned again, thrusting against her, sharply enough to draw a cry from her lips. “My Hermione.” 

“Harry, please,” she whimpered, desperately clutching at him. 

“What do you want?” he asked her, rubbing his face into the valley between her beautiful, amazing breasts, squeezing each one in his hands, pressing them together so he could attempt to kiss both nipples at once. “Do you want more? Do you want me to touch you more?” 

“Yes! Yes, Harry! Touch me! Please, touch me,” she begged, wiggling beneath him, struggling to press more of her body against his, but that was nearly impossible. They were already pressed tightly to one another. 

His hands fell from her breasts, and she sobbed at the lack of contact. Nails scraped at her hips, and the tugging of cloth helped her realize he’d gone for her lounge slacks, was attempting to remove them, and she quickly arched up off the bed, giving him the space needed to wrench the offending clothing down her hips, sloughing off her legs, and kicked away. Only his hands, pressing intimately into the hot, moist folds of her sex, made her realize he’d effectively removed her panties as well. 

The act of removing her pants had forced Harry to scooch lower down her body, but that was perfectly fine with him because he now had immediate access to Hermione’s intimate bits. Those bits that a woman protected most fiercely against casual touches or sweaty-palmed groups in a broom closet. Ready, immediate, and permission granted access, he thought, spreading her legs apart and looking his fill even as his fingers pressed and sunk into her warmth. 

He’d not really looked or bothered to study this womanly bit before—not in the rush of sex and fucking two weeks ago, when everything was so crazily fucked up. He’d looked a little bit, this morning with Hannah—had it really only been this morning?!?!—but Hannah was a little bit different from Hermione, more than just being blonde, he realized. 

It was sort of like how a bloke was similar but different from any other bloke, he thought abstractly, watching transfixed as his fingers continued to disappear and reappear from inside her body. Inside her. He had his fingers inside Hermione’s body, the same way he’d had his dick there, and wasn’t that just bloody amazing? Brilliant. The way her body just stretched and opened and took him in like that. He pressed a third finger, watching the opening stretch and accept his intrusion as Hermione continued to moan and writhe and try to press against him. 

His thumb brushed over the little nub, and he watched in amazement as she reacted, the magic literally pouring off her, trying to wrap around him and draw him into her. He was more than willing, more than eager to sink his dick into her again and chase after that euphoric sense of completion, but there was something he wanted to do first, since he had her here in his bed, spread out willingly before him. 

He inched closer, rubbing his cheek over her soft belly and down to the side until his head was resting on her hip. How many times had they’d stayed up in the common rooms at night with his head resting in her lap, so close, just like this, and yet so innocent, unassuming, unthinkingly…? Now there was no innocence in the position. His eyes darted up to look at her face—got momentarily distracted by those perfect breasts again, falling to either side of her chest. She had a hand fisted in the pillow under her head, another clenching in the sheets below. Her eyes were screwed shut, her face turned away, but he could still she the flush of her skin, glowing from her face down her neck and across those gorgeous breasts. 

“Hermione.” 

He waited until she would look at him. It only took a minute, but finally she did force her gaze down her naked body, took in the visage of an equally naked Harry, his face cradled so near, so close to her sex, and it tightened and pulled at things inside her that she didn’t think could be tightened or stretched any farther, and she cried out, beyond articulate words. 

“I want to taste you.” 

Apparently she did have words left, because suddenly a litany of them were pouring from her lips. “Yes! Please, please, Harry, I need, I need. Please, touch me. Taste me. Harry, please, yes!” 

He didn’t wait for her to finish giving her consent, merely tipped his face forward, rubbing his cheeks against the wiry coarse hairs that covered her mound. He forced the folds of her sex further apart and then buried face, mouth and nose against her heated sex. She screamed, he thought, maybe, but he was too distracted to pay her shouts and words any attention. 

There was really nothing quite like it to describe the texture and taste of her. Vaguely he remember listening in on the other boys talking about women’s bits, trying to describe it, but it wasn’t fishy or in any way disgusting. Maybe a little creepy weird, yeah, because let’s face it—there was a bloody hole where a cock and balls should’ve been! But, if anything, Harry thought it was entirely enchanting. Almost as amazing as breasts. Or maybe it was a tie. He wasn’t sure yet. 

He used his tongue to trace along the little bumps and ridges, intrigued at the unevenness and the little creases; ran his tongue around his fingers, where they continued to stroke in and out of her opening, and even pulled his fingers away so he could press his tongue into that gaping hole, amazed at the way it seemed to open and close and squeeze around him. So hot. So incredibly hot. And then he returned to that little nub of flesh that had cause those amazing reactions earlier when he’d brushed it with his thumb. How would she respond if he sucked on it, he wondered. 

She screamed again, body bucking and thrashing so violently he had to use one hand and his body draped across her thighs just to keep her hips against the bed. Still, he didn’t stop, wasn’t sure if he could stop, enthralled by the scent and taste of her, the feeling of her body and magic as he wrapped around him, dancing and whirling about in a frenzied cacophony or sounds and colors and sensations. 

“Harry! Please! Stop! Please, I can’t--!” 

He pulled back, shocked, stunned, slightly horrified as he looked up at her, her body twitching and shivering uncontrollably as her sobs filled the room. 

“Hermione? Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he soothed, crawling back up the bed and pulling her against him, nuzzling her cheek and chin. “Please, Hermione.” 

“I can’t,” she sobbed brokenly, curling in around him. “Too much, Harry. It’s too much. Hurts.” 

“What hurts, Hermione? Tell me,” he coaxed. “Tell me and I’ll make it go away. Tell me how to make it better, Hermione?” 

“It’s too much,” she cried again. “I need.” 

He pulled her closer to him. “What, Hermione? What do you need?”

She grasped at his hand, tugging, pulling his hand down until it pressed against her soft, flat belly. “Hurts,” she whimpered. “Why does it hurt? Oh, gods, Harry. Need, want, so badly. Don’t understand.” 

But he thought he might. He could see it, if he allowed himself to focus on it, the angry flux of magic that was pulling at both of them, spearing both their magical cores with tentacles that wrapped around and pulled at their magic, and he thought he could Hannah’s voice from earlier that day, telling them, warning them. 

'You’re going to have to complete the pact eventually…'

He’d thought it earlier, when it had happened with Hannah. A spell. A spell he’d completed almost immediately with Hannah, but it had been nearly twelve hours for him and Hermione. Twelve hours for the magic to build, and tighten, and pull at them, demand them to complete the pact. 

“Hermione,” he breathed against her cheek, nuzzling her again as she continued to sob and shake against him. He maneuvered her around until he could wrap around her, pressing into her back. “Shh, Hermione, I have you, I accept your offer of consideration,” he whispered into her ear before turning to nuzzle and kiss along her neck. “Mother of my children.” 

The magic pinged, tightened. Hermione cried out again, hands clenching around his, balling into fists that pressed into her empty belly. 

Magic was strange and amazing and powerful and scary, he thought, shifting her thighs apart and nudging his still happily-erect penis against her hot folds, silky wet and welcoming, he thought, slowly thrusting forward, little bit by little bit until he was nestled completely within her. 

Oh, gods, he was inside Hermione—and his hips jerked of their own violation. Inside her, having sex with his best friend, with Hermione. And she was hot and wanton, and moaning and writhing against him, thrusting down on his shaft as the magic in the air, the magic of the spell and their own magic poured off their bodies, pumping into the air around them with the same furious speed as he found themselves pumping against each other’s bodies. And he could see it, that magic, their magic. It swirled in the air around them, clogging and choking them with its sheer supremacy dominance sovereignty potential might intensity potency. 

It was overwhelming, overpowering, and he came with a might shout. A feeling like his magic was pulling from him, being sucked from his body, hurting his every bone and muscle for an infinity…. And then it was over, slammed back into his own body, his own person once more. Every nerve and muscle twitched in over sensitized aftermath. 

Hermione lay shivering in his arms still, sweaty and exhausted. 

“That was… that was… what was that?” she asked after several minutes of restorative silence. 

“Magic,” he answered, as if that one word could answer her multitude of questions, but really, it was the only answer that could. 

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t or wouldn’t, he didn’t know, but for the next however many minutes, she continued to lie in his arms, resting back against him. It could have been hours but was more closer to minutes later that she finally spoke again. 

“I should… I should go. Back to my room.” 

His arms tightened instinctively. “Don’t,” he pleaded, pressing his face into the side of her throat. “Stay with me.” 

“Harry…” 

“I don’t think I could let you go now, Hermione,” he confessed. “I know you said before that you weren’t in love with me, but I think I am, with you, and you know me, Hermione. Better than anyone, better than even myself sometimes. I can’t… I don’t… The thought of it, Hermione, the thought of letting you go right now, the thought of someone else potentially seeing you like this, touching you like this…” 

He pressed against her, tightening his hold around her. It was so difficult, trying to find the words to express himself to her, but it was so much easier when holding her to him, touching her, possessing her like this. 

“Mine, Hermione. You’re mine. And I think I would hurt anyone who would try and take you away from me.” 

“Harry, I—” 

“Stay. Stay with me. It’s late, you’re naked. Your bed’s so far away. I’m warm, and I’m here, and my bed is so very comfortable with both of us together.” He continued to nuzzle against her neck, his fingers still curled around hers as they rested against her middle. “The morning will be here soon enough. Stay, Hermione. Sleep with me.” 

“So much to do tomorrow,” she mumbled. “Full schedule.” 

“All the more reason to get your sleep,” he crooned gently. “Sleep now, Hermione.” 

“Mm. Still need to get up early for calisthenics.” 

“My alarm is set. I’ll wake you.” 

“Need to… check over… Defense and Charms and ‘rithmacy and runes.” 

He kissed neck. “Rest, mother of my children,” he breathed softly, brushing his fingers over her smooth belly.

“Mmm, too soon,” she mumbled, mostly asleep. “Can take… up to five days, and… not ready. Checked. After dinner. Next month, maybe…” 

He smiled and allowed sleep to take him, thoughts of what Hermione would look like, heavily pregnant with his children, with a baby suckling at her breast, with their children scampering around, playing and carrying on in all sorts of misadventures. They would be brilliant.


	8. The Astronomy Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised.

9/24 – Same Night, The Astronomy Tower

 The week after Hermione’s impromptu birthday party found Neville Longbottom up in the astronomy tower late a Friday evening. The other students had left, dragging their tired bodies back to their beds; the 7th term Gryffindor hadn’t followed the masses. At first, he’d assisted the die-hard astrologists, putting away the various equipment used by the late-night astronomy students. But then, even they had finished and went down to find their beds.

Not Neville, though. He was waiting—reflecting, angsting, and waiting.

There was never a guarantee that the other would show up, but he knew it was more likely than not. And besides, he had thoughts on his mind—heavy thoughts that bore thinking about that he couldn’t quite focus properly on in the confined space of the Gryffindor tower. But here, here on the tallest tower of the castle, there was no ceiling to bounce off of. He could let his thoughts and ideas wander freely, allow them to trickle through his head and then slide peacefully into the endless night sky above him, while still feeling the firm, supportive strength of the stone beneath him.

It was a comfort he only sought at night, something even his beloved greenhouses could not provide.

It had started some time in their fifth year, and now, practically two years later, it was a bit of a routine. He came here, several nights a week, mostly just to think, but also... Many nights, he didn’t remain alone, and that was good. Perhaps too good, his treacherous mind thought.

He felt guilty, deceiving. This year more than any other. He had seen the looks, seen the almost-not-quite casual little touches and caresses. He knew something had changed between the two student heads. Something drastic, life-altering. His chest clenched painfully, and he clenched his eyes shut against their burning.

Neville had always had a thing for his smaller dark-haired dorm mate. Ever since first year, he could suppose. Sure, at first it had been a bit of hero worship—the Harry Potter and all that—but he’d quickly gotten over that. The reality was nothing like he’d expected, but then, if he was to be honest, he was quite relieved for that. Sure he’d never felt quite deserving of being friends with Harry, but somewhen in their fifth year, things had begun to change. And then he’d been allowed to go with Harry, Ron, and Hermione to the Ministry of Magic, and it had been awful.

All those years, all those adventures… He’d always been a little jealous, a little envious of their escapades. They were true Gryffindors, he would think. But the Department of Mysteries fiasco was…horrendous. He’d been terrified, but he’d survived. They’d all somehow survived. Well, the students had, at least. Neville hadn’t known until sometime during that summer that Harry’s beloved godfather was Sirius Black, who had died that same night.

Neville had learned things about himself from that night. He’d learned things about his fellow Gryffindors and people he wanted to call friends. Not all of them were good, but he realized they couldn’t be unlearned. It was a more determined Neville Longbottom who returned to Hogwarts for their sixth year.

Neville didn’t like fighting, but he would fight. He would fight to defend and protect those he cared about and respected, and there wasn’t really anyone else he respected or cared about so much as Harry Potter. He loved and respected his Gran, but she was blood. Neville willingly and wholeheartedly had given his love and respect to one Harry Potter that night in the Ministry…and the other boy never knew it.

That was why, when they’d returned to Hogwarts for their sixth year, Neville had made it a point to be there for Harry, whatever the other boy may have needed. It had started with little things—he’d went down to the kitchens and spoken to the house elves about helping out, making sure there were little snacks available whenever Harry was someplace with a table handy. He’d shared one of his Gran’s favorite wizarding tailor order forms with the other boy, ostensibly asking Harry’s opinion about what the other boy thought about him getting this or that robe or pair of trousers and then offering Harry a chance to look. He’d made reference to some tea tonics that purposely helped with sleep, and when that didn’t work, he’d started setting an alarm around Harry’s bed that would alert him if the other boy was having a nightmare.

It was the later that had him startling awake late one night in time to catch the sound of someone hurriedly stumbling towards the water closet. Neville fumbled out of his own bed, slipping into his house robe and slippers before following. He found Harry lurching precariously over one of the toilet bowls, retching. Neville watched helplessly while the other boy continue to vomit, wondering what to do, before finally heading to one of the sinks and getting a cup of water.

“You all right, Harry?” he asked worriedly when it looked like the other boy was finished heaving.

“Yeah, thanks, Neville. Sorry if I woke you,” Harry mumbled, gratefully taking the water and rinsing out his sour mouth.

“No worries about me. What about you?” Neville insisted, studying his face carefully. Harry looked pale, paler than normal, anyway, and there were dark bruises under his eyes.

“About as good to be expected, I guess.”

“Want to talk about it?” he offered when it looked like Harry wasn’t going to say anymore.

Harry hemmed and hawed before finally answering. “It’s just nightmares, Nev. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nightmares or visions?” he asked, a bit boldly for himself, but then, he was learning he’d have to be a bit bold to get Harry to take him seriously. Especially if it was in regards to Harry himself. Harry never seemed to care about himself enough, at least not in Neville’s opinion.

Harry’s eyes slammed shut and he breathed deeply, forcibly swallowing. For a long minute, it didn’t seem as if Harry was going to answer him, but finally he did.

“They’re monsters,” Harry said shallowly. “No human being could do the things they do. It’s…disgusting and horrible and sickening and…and they’re monsters.”

Neville squeezed his eyes shut, stomach twisting. A vision, then, he thought, and once more Harry had been trapped into seeing what the Death Eaters were doing to some innocent victim. Making a quick decision, Neville grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged him out of the bathroom. “Come on,” he told the other, leading him out of their dorm room and down and out of the common room, too.

It was late enough that Neville wasn’t worried about anyone finding them. They were heading away from Gryffindor Tower before Harry finally began questioning him.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, not fighting Neville’s grip on his hand that tugged him along insistently. “This is the wrong way for the Room of Requirement or the kitchens.”

“We’re not going there,” Neville agreed, leading him straight to the Astronomy Tower’s steps.

“Neville, what—it’s going to be bloody freezing up there,” Harry finally protested as they began climbing.

Neville shot him a look back. “You’ve got your wand, don’t you? Heating charms.”

He led them all the way to the top of the tower and out onto the observation floor. It was the highest point in all of the castle. They had an unhindered 360 panoramic view of the world around them, the night sky luminous above them, the numerous stars twinkling like diamonds in an inky blue-black sea of space.

Neville led him right smack into the center of the space before releasing Harry’s hand. With a flick of his wand he’d somehow managed to conjure a semi-decent blanket before shooting off a warming charm for him and Harry. He stretched out, laying on his back and pillowing his head on his arms as he stared up at the night sky above them.

He didn’t move otherwise, didn’t say anything. He just lay there and let the other boy decide to join him on the blanket or not. After a heart-achingly long pause, Harry crumpled down beside him, sitting hunched over. Good enough, Neville thought, reaching up and pulling Harry down against his side, silently offering his body as a pillow for the other teen. Harry tensed, but then slowly relaxed against him, and Neville smiled. He’d come this far, it wasn’t too much harder to work up the courage to bury a hand in Harry’s wild, unruly mop of dark hair, gently combing and massaging the scalp of the head that pressed against his stomach.

For the longest time, they didn’t say anything. Each lost in their own thoughts; they didn’t need to say anything. But finally, Neville spoke first.

“I like to come up here, a couple of nights a week,” he said into the darkness. “I like looking up at the sky, seeing all those stars and constellations, slowly moving through the sky. Sometimes I think I can actually see dancing colors in the space between. All swirling blues and blacks and purples, filling the night sky. And I think, how immense the world, the universe must be, and how small and insignificant I must be when compared to all that. But I still matter. My choices, my decisions, the things I do or don’t do… they still matter. I matter.”

Harry shifted against him, but didn’t say anything for the longest time. And then, finally, he did.

“I wish I could unsee what I’ve seen. I wish I could just wave my wand and make it all stop, all just disappear. Sometimes I just feel so helpless—I mean, I can’t do anything to help these people, just watch them get tortured and raped and killed.”

He kept his silence, giving Harry’s shoulder a quick squeeze of comfort before he continued to card his fingers through the inky black hair. He didn’t speak, but let the other boy have his release.

“It’s… they’re awful. Gods awful. Disgusting and sickening and… and evil, Nev.” Harry shivered. “What they do… what they did to that poor family tonight… How can anyone be so cruel? I wouldn’t even wish that on my relatives. And they just laughed and cheered each other on…”

Harry continued to shiver, and Neville reached for his wand, casting another localized warming charm around them, although he suspected Harry’s shiver, much like his own, had little to do with the frigid October air and more to do with topic.

“And he was there… he was… proud of them,” Harry rasped. “It was awful, Nev. What they made that father do to his little girl… She must have been only seven or eight. She was so small, and she screamed, begged, and… and they just laughed,” he choked. “They laughed as they took turns with the mother and the older daughter, and…. Gods, Nev.”

Harry curled around the other teen, burying his face against Neville’s stomach and pulling his knees up against Neville’s side. He reached out with his other arm, pulling the slighter teen up closer to him. Harry was still so much smaller than any other the other sixth years, and Neville had always been a bit…bigger—pudgier if not taller, although in the last couple of years he’d managed to sprout up some. He was definitely broader and taller than Harry now.

“They’re monsters.”

Neville didn’t know what to say. He agreed, he almost always agreed with Harry.

“He was touring houses again tonight, too. I’m not sure what exactly they’re looking for, but I think they might have found it. He was really pleased tonight, and this was before… before the…entertainment. They’re always talking about these plans,” he sneered, “But I can never seem to make sense of it. And they’re planning another raid, but I don’t know when or where.”

“It’s not your responsibility,” Neville finally cut in, reminding him. “That’s what Dumbledore and the Ministry are supposed to be doing, right?”

“I know, but…”

“But nothing,” Neville answered. He added another supportive shoulder squeeze before continuing. “If it makes you feel any better, maybe you could tell Dumbledore about your newest vision.”

“He’ll just give me that worried, disappointed look again,” Harry groused.

“Not everyone can learn Occulemency, he should know that,” he defended his friend. Harry had spoken only breifly before about the failed lessons from his fifth year, and Neville had offered what tips he knew about the art. It didn’t seem to change Harry’s opinion of himself as a failure, but Neville wasn’t ready to give up trying. “It’s especially difficult for someone who’s so empathic.”

Harry grumbled against his stomach, but he didn’t try to pull away. Not yet. “I’m not some bleeding heart.”

“No, but you care,” Neville insisted calmly. “You sincerely care about people, Harry, and that matters. That matters a lot, to the people you help and others, too.”

They lapsed into another stretch of semi-comfortable silence, and Neville soaked up the moment. It was peaceful. It was calm. It was soothing. Just being. A warm body in the night, a pillar of strength. It was something Harry excelled at—making him feel necessary, important. Only a few others had ever made Neville feel like he mattered, he made a difference, and he savored these moments whenever and however he could.

That Harry Potter—strong, confident, powerful Harry Potter—was one of those people made his chest swell and ache with pride and purpose. Being able to be there for Harry when the other teen was shredded… being able to support the teen as he painstakingly mended himself back together… being able to be the calm shelter and support Harry seemed to crave and need so badly… Harry, who was always the bolster for others.

“Are you feeling a bit better now?” he asked gently, hating to break the moment, but knowing it needed to be done.

“Yeah, I suppose I am,” Harry mumbled, not making any move to leave.

That was fine with Neville. He would stay there the entire night if that’s what Harry needed. He would do just about anything to help the other teen, more so now than ever before, he decided.

“I’ll always be here for you, Harry, if you ever need anything,” he promised softly.

“Thanks, Nev,” the teen murmured, offering up a quick squeeze, not quite a hug, before pushing up to his feet. “You’re a true friend. This was…good. I feel better. Thanks.”

Neville smiled, sad and whimsical as he watched Harry retreat back into the castle. He closed his eyes and tilted his face back towards the night sky, focusing on regulating his breathing.

If only….

And that’s how it started. Neville would continue to retreat to the Astronomy Towers to think and genuine reflect… and sometimes, he wouldn’t be there alone. Sometimes Harry would come floundering onto the scene. Sometimes the other boy would scream off the side of the tower; sometimes he would sob uncontrollably. Sometimes he wouldn’t say anything; sometimes, however, he would ramble off everything he’d been forced to witness, and Neville felt guilty, but he’d often wished Harry wouldn’t, because the words he spoke were the words of horrendous nightmares—pain and cruelty and the vilest of vile.

No matter what, Neville welcomed Harry agreeably, silently offering his strength and support to the other teen. He never asked him any questions or forced him to talk. He just continued to lie there quietly, offering what comfort he could. After last year, he was used to this, had come to desire this quiet, personal time with Harry. Sometimes the other teen would just lie there quietly, allowing Neville to ramble on—sharing random stories of when he was little or of something that had happened that day. Most of the time, though, they just passed the time in silence.

And then sometimes, Harry didn’t show.

Tonight, it seemed, would be one of those nights.

Neville sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. This year had been different all around. He was different. Harry was different. And there was definitely something happening between Harry and Hermione, Neville was sure of it. It made sense, really. They were both powerful and smart and amazing and beautiful… Neville groaned, pressing his fists against his eye sockets.

It was more than just Harry and Hermione being Headboy and Headgirl, he could tell. There was a special energy that wafted off of them both, that resonated in the very air between them. Neville could almost imagine the taste of it, the feel of it rippling against his skin. He knew if he went through the family rituals like his Gran had wanted this summer, than he would be doing a lot more than just imagining. But he hadn’t been ready for that.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have any family pride or was ashamed of his family’s ancestry. He just wasn’t ready to open himself up to those potential changes right now. Not when he didn’t know how it would affect him, affect his ability to support Harry. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t still feel the family magics bubbling beneath his skin, occasionally escaping in tiny bursts. He could still access the deeper family magics, if he really needed to. He didn’t need to go through some ritual to realize his full potential. His Gran was wrong, he was sure of it. Sure, it would take longer to master his inheritance by allowing the magic to mature naturally instead of releasing it all in one go, but that was okay with him.

Neville rolled over onto his feet and stretched. It was time to get some sleep.


	9. Luna Makes an Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna knows something the trio don't, and she's willing to share.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised...again.

 

**Tues. 9/30 –Luna makes her offer**

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 The lithe slip of a woman hummed merrily as she moved through the corridors, joyful at the thought of what might be served for pudding this evening.  It was only a Tuesday, but the first month of school was already over.  Already she had learned so much from her classes, and even more from her tutorials.  She was having a lovely time in the extended version of the DA this year, and she thought it was a brilliant idea of Harry’s. Almost worthy of a

Ravenclaw, she thought with a little smile.

 

A sudden piercing pain through her core had her crumpling, as if to protect her sensitive organs. 

 

There was no protection, for there was no physical wound, and Luna Lovegood was left panting for breath as she leaned heavily against the stone wall.  She closed her silvery eyes and focused on calming her breaths, small fist clenched tightly to her middle.  Slowly, ever so slowly, the pain began to ease, her tense and tight muscles began to release, and she stood up. Still focusing on her steady breathing, she slowly relaxed her magic, letting it flow freely through and around her body.

 

She was running out of time, she thought sadly.  She would have to make a decision, and soon, or else she would lose the opportunity. There was little doubt of it, now.

 

“Luna?” a voice called out from a little ways.

 

Quickly, she reined her wild, unfettered magic back in, pulling it back towards her core and tucking it away in a special little pocket…but not before a little tendril flicked out and licked caressingly alongside the other’s magical signal. She gasped as that signal flared up in response, trailing back after her, singing back through her tingling nerves.

 

“Luna? What is it? Are you alright?”

 

He was closer now, practically on her, but she was able to return her smile to her face before she turned to greet him. 

“Hello, Harry. Lovely evening for a stroll.”

 

“Uh, yeah, I suppose,” the head boy mumbled appeasingly.

 

He was such a sweet boy. And powerful, of course. She already knew that. And she’d already suspected that he would have received more than just a little power boost most magicals enjoyed on their coming of age. Seeing him again on the train September first had been enough to confirm her suspicions. Keen observations—and more than a little knowledge of pureblooded society—had given her further clues. Her conclusions were far from off-putting. Indeed, they helped make her final decision easier. She knew it would be the right choice.

 

She enjoyed looking at him, watching his magic dance about him. He was spectacular, and she never tired of the sight.

 

“Listen, I was wondering, would you mind helping out in the Room tonight? Some of the fifth years caught up to me and asked for some extra Defense help after dinner today. Apparently, they’re expecting a quiz, and you know how Snape can get. But I was supposed to be helping the second years practice, and—“

 

“That’s fine, Harry,” she cut him off. He really did have a bad habit of rambling. “I’d be happy to help.”

 

“Really?” he sounded so relieved, it was endearing she thought how sincerely he cared about helping everyone. He was a good soul. “Oh, that’s great. Hermione and Neville have their own study groups going on tonight, and, well, I didn’t know who else I should ask, and—“

 

“Second year Defense under Professor Snape is not much different from my own under Professor Lupin, I don’t think, and even so, you’ve taught us all very well. I’m sure I can help them. Is that all, Harry?”

 

“Er, yeah, I guess. You heading to dinner?” he asked, motioning in the general direction of the Great Hall.

 

“Yes,” she answered sweetly. “Do you think they’ll have pudding?”

 

Harry grinned at her. “If they don’t, we can always swing by the kitchens after study group,” he offered.

 

“I do like pudding,” she commented, heading off towards the Great Hall, Harry beside her.

 

*

 

Harry Potter was an interesting fellow.  When they had first been introduced, she was already a fourth year student. Half way through her Hogwarts career. He was in his OWLs year, and seemed horribly…lost.  Yes, that was her word for Harry. He was a lost soul, looking desperately for something, she wasn’t sure what. Just as she still wasn’t sure if he’d found whatever it was he was looking for…or if he’d simply given up on the search.

 

In any case, the Harry Potter of now was a different person than the boy she had met several years ago, and that was only all too reasonable. After all, hadn’t they lived through two years’ worth of experiences since that time? He was a stronger person now, she thought, but still very needy. So very willing to please and help and take care of others.

Although he hadn’t been her first choice, she couldn’t deny there were very many better choices to be had. And what’s more, she genuinely liked Harry Potter; she thought well of him and trusted him.

 

And she was running out of time, she thought as a stitch caught her in her side, her magic flexing unstably in its special pocket.   

 

*

 

 “Good job, everyone,” Harry called out, drawing an end to the Defense Study Group. “Fifth years, you should be all set for your Defense quiz tomorrow.  Seventh years, don’t forget the Potions cram session after lunch!”

 

All around the room there were numerous shouts of gratitude and bemoaning groans of impending doom as the different forms started to trickle out of the Room of Requirement.  The second years Luna had been working with all thanked her for her time—one little girl, a Gryffindor by her tie, even gave her a hug before darting off with her friends. Luna smiled after her, more than a little bemused.

 

They’d decided to keep using the Room for defense lessons as it seemed to be the safest place they could blow things up and not create too big of a mess. Most of the other subject study groups could safely meet in any old classroom without worrying too much about causing the castle damage. Not so, Defense.

 

While all the others left, Luna remained, watching calmly as Harry quickly set about putting the room to rights.

 

“You’re doing a very good job,” she commented.

 

 “Hey, Luna,” Harry grinned back at her.  “Thanks. And you, too.  Thanks for agreeing to work with the second years tonight. Hey, listen, I’m sorry about you missing the Arithmacy and Runes study groups tonight; I didn’t know you’d been planning on going with Hermione. You should’ve said something.”

 

“It was no trouble,” she replied, flicking her wand to help him clean up faster.

 

“Well, I’m grateful. Those fifth years who came up to me before dinner? They really are nervous about their test tomorrow. It’s probably a good thing I could work with them tonight.”

 

“You’re very good with them,” she commented before changing the subject.  “Did you know, nearly two in every three pureblooded families can trace a magical being or creature in their ancestry?”

 

Harry stumbled, whirling around to stare at her. “Wha-what?”

 

 “Oh, yes,” the Ravenclaw girl continued on casually.  “It was quite a prestigious thing, once upon a time, to be able to trace your family’s magic back to a specific being or creature.  Tradition has it that those families that allowed their blood to mix with certain powerful magical beings enjoyed an extra magical boost upon reaching maturity.” 

 

She finished banishing the pillows into a pile and turned to face him directly. Studying him, staring at him, and yet, he felt like she wasn’t even seeing him. 

 

“You can understand, then, why it was once considered such a prestigious badge of honor, to be able to claim creature blood.”

 

“I don’t understand,” Harry mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, watching her steadily.  “What does this have to—how do you even know this? Hermione’s never said anything—“

 

“It’s one of the reasons purebloods have been so against muggleborns,” she continued unhurriedly.  “It’s said that the muggle blood dilutes the concentration of magical being blood, which then hinders the chance of fantastical inheritances.”

 

She paused, a small frown puzzling her face, head tilted sideways.  “I always wondered, though, how to explain squibs and muggleborns, especially when some of the muggleborns like Hermione, are so obviously powerful magically.  Don’t you think that odd, too?” she asked before turning to scan the neatened room.   

 

With a thought, the room around them dissolved into something much more cozy—a large hearth fire blazed to life, a push throw rug plumped beneath their feet, and a two oversized large cushioned armchairs plumped up invitingly. More than adequate, she thought, giving up a little word of thanks to the castle and feeling a pleased caress of magic in response.

 

“This led to the Purist Wars,” she continued, “when muggle-borns and half-bloods persecuted purebloods for ‘bestiality’ over 700 years ago. The stigma still continues, which is a bit ridiculous if you ask me. After all, aren’t we all magical beings?”

 

He knew she had a point—Luna always had a point for saying the things she did, you just had to figure out what it was. He’d never heard of the Purist Wars—but he would certainly ask Hermione about them later. He did sort of know that wizards had been known to… cross with other magical beings, he thought squeamishly.  He might have not thought too much on it, but he knew Hagrid’s mum was a giantess and his dad a wizard. He knew Fleur’s grandmother was a veela, and everyone suspected one of Flitwick’s parents to have been a goblin. 

 

So, yeah, he kind of knew those things happened, and he’d heard some of the crazy tales the boys had told about inheritances last year. It had been why he was so worried this summer when his own inheritance was supposed to take place… but… nothing had happened.  His inheritance had been completely normal.  He was completely normal.

 

He….

 

Harry shivered. Hermione and Hannah had both teamed up to research why had happened to him, but they hadn’t found anything. Not yet.  What if this was the key they were missing? Luna always seemed to know things, she was always so perceptive—if you were wise enough to listen and figure out what she was really saying, that it.  Maybe this was what she was getting at. Was it really possibly that he… that the Potters…?  They were an old, pureblooded family, right? And it wasn’t like he knew anything much about them. Not even Andromeda had talked about the possibility of magical beings being in his ancestry during any one of their talks this summer. But…

 

“Luna,” Harry asked carefully, wetting his lips nervously.  “Do you know… I mean… do the Potters have any known magical creature blood in their history?”

 

She continued to look at him, and he shifted uneasily, but determined to wait her out for an answer.  Luna tended to know a lot of things—probably why she’d been sorted a Ravenclaw he figured.

 

“I don’t know,” she answered finally.  “Not for sure, but it’s quite likely.  The Blacks, for instance, have definitely had their creature encounters, and, well, really, most pureblood families have, so I would imagine yes. I don’t mind, however.”

 

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry huffed, somewhat put out. He’d felt like he was so close to a revelation… something important.

 

“You’re quite nice, Harry,” she continued, still studying him.

 

“Thanks, Luna,” Harry repeated. “I think you’re nice, too.”

 

“You’ve always been kind to me; you possess a good heart and strong charisma.”

 

Harry blushed and scratched at his cheek in embarrassment. He wasn’t used to other people complimenting him much and wasn’t sure what to say at this point.  Did he thank her again? Try to compliment her in return? What?

 

She turned away to stare at the fire. “At first I thought I would choose Ronald, you understand.”

 

No, no he didn’t. Harry frowned, suddenly feeling more uncomfortable than before. Even with Hermione being his best friend, he wasn’t really great at these little heart-to-heart chats that girls seemed to like. He’d even caught Hannah and Hermione going at it several times in the last week. He didn’t understand how girls could seemingly go on and on, chatting about seemingly nothing.

 

“He’s very funny, and I do like to laugh, but he hasn’t matured as well as I’d hoped.  And, well, I do need to be grounded before my birthday. I shouldn’t like to go through my inheritance ungrounded. I can’t imagine it would be very nice. But as I said, you’re very nice, and you have a very good heart. I know you will be a good match.”

 

Harry colored with nervous embarrassment, fidgeting and shuffling, trying to look any which direction other than forward.  A thoughtful frown mewed Luna’s face before she calmly stepped forward, completely annihilating any sense of personal space and brushing her body up against Harry’s.  She tilted her face upwards and kissed him.

 

Harry jumped back with a sputtered protest, tripping and falling back—thankfully onto a soft, cushy armchair. Luna followed, however, going so far as to climb into his lap and trap him there with the very real and warm weight of her body.  She could feel his body respond to hers, and encouraged, she reached down and brushed his groin.

 

“Shit! Luna—“ he hissed, squirming.

 

“Please consider it,” she whispered against his cheek.  “I’ve been studying, and I’m confident I can make the experience very enjoyable for you.”

 

Harry choked on a hysterical laugh.  Was she really suggestion what it sounded like? “That isn’t it, Luna. Look, there’s something things going on right now, with me, at the moment and all, and—“

 

“Voldemort?” she asked, calmly and curiously.

 

“No. I mean, yes,” he huffed. “There’s that, but there’s also other stuff,” he alluded with a frantic hand wave. Other stuff like him going completely out of control and practically raping his best friend and another girl—even if they forgave him, even if they weren’t angry with him and said it wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t stupid enough to try and think of it as anything other than what it was: rape.  It didn’t matter that he didn’t mean to hurt them or that he wasn’t in control. Really, that just made it all the worse in his opinion.  And really, he had no business being alone with any other girl while they still were unsure of what the hell was going on with him.  Although, maybe he could try suggestion to Hermione looking at some possible creature or magical being inheritances that would cause one to lose their mind and attack girls…

 

“Oh. You mean your Vanterrian inheritance,” Luna nodded sagely. “Yes, I could see how that could be distracting for you, but I can assure it won’t be much of a problem.”

 

“My—my val-what?”

 

“Vanteerian,” the blonde supplied, still sitting contentedly on his lap.  “I suspected, of course, when I saw you again on the train. I was a little saddened at first, but then when I saw you with Hermione and Hannah, I realized you couldn’t be full-blooded, so it’s okay.  After all, Valteerians only have one mate and you’ve already taken two, so one more shouldn’t matter.”

 

Harry forcibly pushed aside the thought of ‘mates’ and tried to focus on what Luna was telling him. Did she really know what was wrong with him? “I’ve never heard of a Valerian before.”

 

“Vanteerian,” Luna calmly corrected.

 

“And you think I’m one of these?” Harry questioned in disbelief.  “What—Why—How?” he started before cutting her off.

 

“Wait. Come with me,” he commanded, pushing her off him and grabbing her hand. He practically drug her from the room and off towards the nearest entrance to the head boy and girl’s chambers—thankful that there was an entrance near every dormitory that could be easily reached.

 

* 

 

Hannah and Hermione were cozied up on the head’s sofa near the fireplace, an extremely comfortable blanket Hannah’s grandmother had made for her thrown over their legs as they amiably chatted about their day and their experiences at their separate study groups that evening.  Despite her worries surrounding Harry, Hermione could hardly remember a time when she had felt so contented.  She adored Harry, she did, and Ron was a dear friend, too,  but her best friends really couldn’t compare with a real girlfriend, and Hannah had taken to the role admirably. The Hufflepuff girl was mostly smiles and giggles and sunshine—with a crack of humor and mischievousness thrown in. She could also be quite determined and forceful when following through with what she believed was right, Hermione had discovered.  And while the two had been friendly in years past, Hermione was glad of their new-found closer relationship of this year.

 

“So I told her,” Hannah was saying when Harry came bursting through the door. “If that’s the way you really feel, you should just tell him!”

 

“Hermione!” Harry shouted as he pushed through the door dragging a bemused looking Luna Lovegood behind him.

 

“What—Harry? Luna? What’s going on?” the head girl asked, clearly surprised and confused as she sat up. Beside her, Hannah also straightened, looking over a wild-eyed and frantic looking Harry and the somewhat strangely serene Luna.

 

 “Tell them,” he demanded, letting go of Luna’s hand once they were safely inside the common room.  “Tell them  what you told me.”

 

Looking puzzled, Luna obediently began to repeat her words from earlier.  “I’ve studied love-making skills and—“

 

“No, not that! The other part,” Harry corrected, coloring even worse than before. “About Vantorians.”

 

“Vantorians?” Hermione repeated bemused.  “Are these like wrackspurts and nargles?”

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Luna mused.  “Vanteerians are considered magical beings, not magical creatures, because they can look human—it’s a true shape for them, just like their cat form.”

 

“But… Vanteerians are extinct,” Hannah said frowning. “And even if they weren’t, Harry couldn’t be one, could he?” she asked, frowning to look first from the blonde and then to the raven-haired boy, considering.

 

“Well, not fully,” Luna agreed.

 

“Cat form?” Hermione asked.

 

“Mmm, yes.  Vanteerians are large winged cats—“

 

“Like tigers, lions, panthers and such,” Hannah supplied, eagerly recalling everything she could remember about the fantastical beings she had read about in a storybook when she was little; which, granted, wasn’t all that much. “And they’re said to be, well, I guess the closest you would understand, Hermione, is like a fallen angel.”

 

“Why haven’t I ever heard of them before?”

 

“I don’t know. Why haven’t you?” Luna returned.  “I thought even muggles were aware of them.  Of course, they consider them made-up, like dragons and unicorns and mermaids.”

 

“And you think Harry might be one?” she asked, staring from one girl’s face to the other.  Hannah looked honestly thoughtful, but Luna was… well, Luna.

 

 “But he can’t be,” Hannah frowned.  “I mean, yes, he’s an excellent flyer, very agile and lithe, handsome and charismatic, faithful and loyal—protective,” she rattled off unhesitatingly.  “But Vanteerians mate for life, which is why they’re now extinct.”

 

The Hufflepuff turned towards Hermione to explain.  “If one mate is killed or even dies naturally, the remaining mate pines away until it, too, dies.  They only ever take one mate, and then they raise their cubs together, hunt together, do everything together really.”

 

“So the reason you think Harry isn’t this Vanteerian is because…”

 

“If he were truly a full Vanteerian,” Luna continued, “then his innate being would not allow him to be intimate with more than one female—his mate.  As he has been intimate with both you and Hannah, I see no reason why he can’t also be intimate with me.”

 

“Which is why you were studying about sex,” Hermione concluded tiredly.

 

“Oh, no. Sex is an interesting subject all on its own without needing a reason to study it.”

 

“Luna,” Harry broke in.  “How did you know that, uh, I mean, with Hermione and Hannah. We didn’t tell anyone.”

 

“Were you trying to hide it?” the blonde asked somewhat surprised.  “Wasn’t very smart to be out in the corridors or to leave marks then. It’s okay. I don’t mind marking. I’ve read that they can be quite pleasurable to both give and receive.”

 

“Luna, I don’t think—“

 

“Don’t worry, Harry.  I’m sure that with both Hermione and me here, we can help you.  Not thinking is a common problem for a lot of people.”

 

Hannah looked from one face to another, as if weighing a heavy thought… and then she sighed resolutely.  “Well, in for a knut, in for a galleon I suppose.  I mean, it’s not the life I’d ever imagined for myself, but I think we could make it work.”

 

“It?” Hermione asked weakly, not even sure if she wanted to be following along where this conversation seemed to be heading.  She had just partially come to accept her evolving relationship between herself and Harry, let alone the tentative relationship that had started to form between herself and the blonde Hufflepuff. Although not sexual in itself, yet, there was the shared experiences of having been with the same man, and, if Hermione hadn’t misread the subtle hints Hannah occasionally dropped, it seemed the other girl had no hesitation of being intimate with Hermione herself, if she would be willing.  To be honest with herself, Hermione wasn’t too sure how willing she was, but it wasn’t as if Hannah was pressuring her, so it wasn’t an issue yet. Just a possibility. Hermione liked knowing she had options, but…

 

“Well, yes. I mean, the three of us,” Hannah went on, waving negligently between the three girls present before thinking to include the lone male. “The four of us, with Harry.”  And then she hesitated, a fissure of uncertainty marring her pretty face. “Unless you were thinking this arrangement was only going to be temporary?”

 

“It won’t,” Luna informed them stoutly. “Vanteerian mate for life and are extremely protective as well as possessive.  I suspect that is why Harry hurt Smith the other day when he was talking poorly of you.”

 

Hannah looked surprised.  “Harry hurt Zachary?” she asked in disbelief. “He wouldn’t tell us what happened.”

 

“Yes,” Luna nodded solemnly. “He was saying some very not nice things about you.  Rather unwisely, too. Harry heard him and didn’t like it at all.”

 

“That’s terrible!” Hermione gasped.

 

“Well, I don’t think anyone really believed what Smith was saying. And if they did, I doubt they would act or say anything about it now.”

 

“But, don’t you see!” the head girl pressed on.  “Harry can’t just go around attacking other students!  He’ll get in trouble!”

 

“I’m sure he deserved it,” Hannah grumbled, still annoyed with her housemate.  “But Luna, what I don’t understand is why you would think Harry was a Vanterrian?”

 

Luna turned back to stare at Harry.  “I can see him, his cat, his wings, his magic… It’s not complete yet, but it’s coming…” she murmured, eyes unfocusing slightly as her magic swelled within its special pocket. Small tendrils slipped free of her control and curled around the dark-haired teen beside her. 

 

“The heightened senses of a prime predator,” she whispered melodically, as if reciting a youthful poem. “The wings of an angel, the strength of a vampire, the lifeline of an elf, the sexual nature of an incubus, and the beauty of a Veela. I can see it,” she continued, breaking the spell of her words by turning back to look at both seventh year girls. “What I can’t see is why he seems to have more than one mate.”

 

“More than… you mean Hannah and myself?” Hermione asked shakily.

 

Luna shook her head, frowning.  “No. There are more.” She reached out a hand, as if she were caressing or playing with some invisible thread the others couldn’t see. 

 

“So much potential. So many possibilities. That is why I know there will be room for me, as well. Harry can accept me for who I am, without spoiling the bonds he’s already made with you two.  Besides,” she added with a quirky smile. “Potters are known for siring boys. I’m curious if he could break the Lovegood curse of bearing only girls. An interesting experiment, don’t you think?”

 

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love having a holiday that coincides with a writing mood. :) I've gone back over the last two chapters now--Neville and Luna--and added some more personal detail for the two of them. At some point, I would like to add more for Hermione and Hannah individually as well as some of the other characters. That way this story isn't trapped by only Harry's perspective. If there's something specific or generic you're interesting in knowing, just drop me a line. 
> 
> As always, this story is a fluxuating work in progress.


	10. Luna’s Imprinting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever Luna wants.... Luna gets.  
> And Harry, Luna wants you....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been revised.

 

Saturday 10/4 – Luna’s Imprinting

 

 The girls had stayed up much too late Tuesday night talking about him. Harry couldn’t find it in him to be really angry or upset at them, more he was angry and upset about his situation. Not knowing the truth of things. They could speculate all they liked about harry supposedly being a Vanteerian—yes, he’d learned how to say it correctly—but without any definite proof… what good was it?

 

It had been about a half hour into the girls’ debates that Hermione had finally shouted, “What about what Harry wants? Don’t you think he should at least get a say in this?” she asked exasperatedly.

 

He looked up, hollowly returning their waiting stares from where he sat in between Hermione and Hannah on the sofa, Luna stretched out on the rug between them and the fire, her legs kicking back and forth. “I don’t see why now should be any different?” he finally answered.  “I mean, I never asked for anything of this.”

 

“Harry,” Hermione started, reaching for his hand before Hannah cut her off.

 

“Are you unhappy with it?” she demanded gently, nudging her shoulder into his. “I know most guys like to joke and get off on the idea of having lots of girlfriends, but you’ve never been like most guys, Harry. I don’t think you could if you tried.” She smiled at him and cuddled up to him on the sofa. “That’s just one of the reasons why I think it could work. You, me, Hermione, Luna, and anyone else that should happen to join our little group.”

 

“What you’re talking about, Hannah… it’s a bit…”

 

“Unreal,” Hermione finished.

 

“Not really,” the curvy blonde replied chipperly. “At least not so much in the wizarding world. Maybe not in the muggle world, but in the wizarding world you hear often enough about multiple marriages or bondings because of family titles and all. Especially if one of the matriarchal lines, like the Lovegoods or Bones, tries to marry into a patriarchal line.”

 

“Of course,” Hermione murmured. “I remember reading something about that before, but I didn’t think the practice was still in effect.”

 

Hannah smiled at her amusedly. “A lot of things don’t get talked about openly any more, but that doesn’t mean they don’t still happen.”

 

Hermione huffed. “I wish they’d just teach us all this openly instead of making us fumble around in the dark and try and figure it all out ourselves. How are we ever supposed to learn if no one’s there to teach us?” she groused.

 

“There’s always books,” Luna supplied.

 

“Or you could just ask,” Hannah offered. “But you’re right. It’s not the first time we in Hufflepuff have thought about having to privately teach our muggle-borns and muggle-raised some of the traditions of the wizarding world.”

 

“The Ravenclaws hold special study groups for the younger years,” Luna shared.  “Slytherin does, too.”

 

“Figures,” the lioness groused.

 

“See, you should have gone to Ravenclaw,” Harry teased her.

 

“And you should’ve gone to Slytherin?” she countered.

 

“Touché.”

 

“Anyway, that still leaves us with the here and now,” Hermione pushed on. “What do you think, Harry?”

 

“Trying not to at the moment,” he confessed.  “I mean, we don’t really know anything for sure, do we? Luna seems to think I’m this Vanteerian creature, but then both she and Hannah are saying I can’t be, so, I mean, we’re not much better off than we were before, are we?”

 

“Not at all,” Hannah protested.  “We can fairly definitely agree that whatever’s going on with you, Harry, has something to do with your inheritance, don’t you agree? And it looks like it’s a creature inheritance.”

 

“We should ask Remus if he knows of anything happening to your father,” Hermione suggested. “And maybe Mrs. Tonks? You did mention you were meeting with her over the summer to learn more about the Black Family. Maybe she can tell you more about some possible inheritances through the Black line.”

 

“I suppose so,” Harry hedged, scratching his around his face. “It couldn’t hurt, at least.”

 

“And I’ll ask Daddy if he has any other books about Vanteerians, shall I?” Luna offered. “Maybe there’s something that we’ve missed.”

 

“Like why I attack some girls and not others?” Harry asked darkly.

 

“I would think that’s because you have more than one potential mate,” Luna countered mater-of-factly over the other two girls’ would-be protests. “It could be something of a mixed creature inheritance, I suppose. Although those are really uncommon.”

 

“Great,” Harry muttered.

 

“Harry,” Hannah started, pulling away from him slightly, leaning back against the sofa’s arm to put that little bit of space between them. “I know we really haven’t talked about it much, but… are you that unhappy of the thought of being in a relationship with me and Hermione? I mean, I know you and Hermione have a shared history together, and I understand that, but I had hoped…”

 

“No, Hannah, it’s not—I mean, you’re—and Hermione—and—It’s not you, it’s me!” he finally spit out, glaring at Hermione when she failed to hide what suspiciously sounded like a giggle.

 

“Really?” she snorted, not intimidated by his dark look at all. “‘It’s not you, it’s me?’ That’s the best you can come up with?”

 

“Not helping.”

 

“Ah, well, if it’s help you’re wanting,” Hermione continued, somewhat gaily, leaving forward to look at Hannah from around Harry’s front.  “I have it on very good authority that Harry is quite attracted to you and your attributes and he very much enjoys his time with you.”

 

Hannah colored prettily and smiled. “Good. Not as good as hearing him say it,” she added with a nod, “but good none-the-less. I quite enjoy my time with you, too,” she concluded, leaning forward to whisper against his cheek before dropping a sweet little peck and pulling away.

 

Harry made an intangible little noised that caused both girls to laugh again.  “What was that, Harry? Did you say something?” Hermione teased, leaning in to his shoulder.

 

“I will not be held unaccountable if you continue to tease me like this,” he warned, reaching around before trying to tickle either girl.  They shrieked and flung their limbs wildly—Hermione rolling away, laughing breathlessly as she wound up on the floor, but Hannah took full advantage of the tight confines of the sofa to straddle Harry’s lap and return the tickle attach.  It quickly turned into something much more heated, the two teens frotting uninhibitedly against one another as they snogged passionately.

 

A small, needy whimper from beside her drew Hermione’s attention away from the two on the sofa to the one beside her on the floor. 

 

Luna had stopped swinging her legs and instead seemed rooted to the floor, silver eyes hungrily eating up the image before them.  But it was more than that, Hermione realized, watching Luna’s fixed gazed.  The younger girl was seeing more than what Hermione saw, she was sure of it.

 

“What do you see?” she asked breathlessly, little more than a whisper so as not to distract the other two who were already going heavy at it.

 

“Harry’s magic,” Luna answered trancelike. “It flows out from him like ribbons, encasing her, and she shines. It radiates from him in all directions, like wings, splayed in flight. So pretty, the colors dancing around them…”

 

Beside her, Luna gasped, snapping her eyes shut tight and breathing heavily.  “Luna?” Hermione called gently. “Are you okay?”

 

“I will be,” the blonde whimpered, trembling.

 

“Come on, let’s go to my room,” the head girl cajoled, pulling the slighter girl up with her. “I’ve learned Hannah is quite…open in her affections, and Harry never seems to remember where he is when she gets started.”

 

“He gets caught up in the moment,” Luna hummed, blindly following where the other girl led. “It’s his nature.”

 

“Maybe, but what’s her excuse?” Hermione quipped, shutting the door firmly behind them.  “Luna, really, what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this before?”

 

“My inheritance is approaching,” Luna confessed, slowly evening out her breathing and forcing her body to relax. 

 

“I don’t understand. No one else mentioned having trouble before their inheritance,” Hermione frowned, seating Luna on her bed and taking a seat across from her at her vanity. “And I understand not everyone’s the same, especially when it comes to magical inheritances, but, I mean…”

 

“You’re not mistaken,” Luna smiled at her. “It’s not normal, but then, normal isn’t much fun, is it?”

 

“What happened? I mean, why—err, how?”

 

“It was my mother. She was very smart, you see, and inquisitive. She liked to experiment a lot. That’s how she died. She was experimenting.  Daddy said I was too close by when the accident happened, and something happened to my core—it shifted,” Luna explained nonchalantly. “It’s why I can see things easier than others. I see magic differently.  Hannah already told you the Lovegoods are a matriarchal family.  My mother’s blood carries the gift of the fae. My father was a young druid when he met my mother. They fell in love and had me. It was practically a guarantee that I would inherit my family’s special magics, but with the shift in my core…”

 

“You need someone to ground you, don’t you?” Hermione asked, awe filled.

 

Lunda nodded. “Without a bond to ground me, it’s very possible I could lose myself when my inheritance does come.”

 

“And you think Harry can help you?”

 

“Harry having multiple mates already actually makes things all the better,” Luna confirmed.  “It means any fluctuations in my magic, in any of our magic, would be picked up and dispersed between all of us, not just one other person.”

 

“Like a coven?”

 

“Yes, exactly. Or a harem,” she added with amusement as a rather loud shout punctuated through Hermione’s closed door.

 

Hermione huffed and flung a silencing charm at her door, cheeks blazing. “Really, you wouldn’t know they were both virgins only a few weeks ago.”

 

“I’m sure experience has little to do with it, if Harry really is a Vanteerian. They are, after all, sexual creatures.”

 

“I’ve never heard of Vanteerians in the magical world before,” Hermione frowned. “I mean, I know of the sub-category of winged felines in magical creatures, but I’ve never seen a reference to something called a Vanteerian.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Luna said forlornly.  “Hogwarts library seems to be missing quite a few important tombs when it comes to magical beings.  I’ll ask Daddy to send me some of our books from home.”

 

“That would be great,” Hermione practically gushed. “And I’m going to go ahead and write Remus, too.”

 

“Professor Lupin?”

 

“Yes, he’s sort of like Harry’s godfather. He was friends with Harry’s parents.”

 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that before, I think. He’s very nice. He was a very good teacher, too.”

 

“Yes, he is,” Hermione agreed, smiling at the other witch.  “Would you like to borrow some stationary to write your father? Those two shouldn’t be very much longer out there, and then we can talk about how Harry can help you.”

 

“Is that why you didn’t join them? Because I’m here?” Luna frowned. “I wouldn’t have minded. I thought you three looked quite lovely together when you were simply sitting.”

 

Hermione stuttered and blushed some more. “Uh, no, it’s, uh, not like them, I mean, between us. We’re just friends,” she insisted.

 

“I would hope so. I should think it a very sad thing to have a lover who was not also a friend.”

 

“No, I mean it’s not… my relationship isn’t intimate with…can we talk about something else, please?”

 

Luna stared at her, and Hermione shifted nervously.  “Did you not like sex with Harry?”

 

“Luna, please,” the older girl entreated.

 

“Hannah seems to enjoy it rather well,” Luna continued. “I should hope to enjoy it, too. I’ve read a lot, and—“

 

“Don’t you think that’s something you should discuss with Harry?” Hermione interrupted somewhat desperately.

 

“Well, yes, I suppose I should,” Luna mused, standing up and heading towards the door.

 

Hermione was a second too slow catch on.  “Luna, wait!” she shouted, leaping from her chair, but the blonde was already through the door.

 

“Are you finished?” Luna asked the cozying couple on the couch.  “Only, it’s getting late and I don’t want to be caught out past curfew.”

 

Harry groaned, hiding his face against Hannah’s shoulder, but the curvy blonde just laugh and pushed back from him, straightening her clothes as she went.  “It’s all right, Luna,” Hannah replied, smiling relaxedly.  “I’ll be sure to walk you to your tower before I head back.”

 

“Thank you, Hannah. That’s very nice of you.”  

 

“No problem. I’m happy to help.  Now about you and Harry,” the Hufflepuff continued.  “Things sort of just spontaneously happened for Hermione and me.”

 

“I’ll need a little time to prepare myself,” Luna frowned.  “I was hoping perhaps this Sunday, if that would work for you, Harry?”

 

“Uh, Sunday? To, uh, I mean, and—huh?”

 

“Best not make it Sunday,” Hannah cut in.  “Harry can get pretty intense when he’s all dominating male. You’ll probably want the whole weekend.”

 

“Homework,” Hermione piped in.

 

“We can push and get anything urgent or due at the beginning of the week done Friday,” Hannah negotiated. “Then Harry and Luna could meet up Saturday morning, and that would still give them two whole days to recoup.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Harry interrupted. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

 

The three girls turned away from each other and looked at him, as if just remembering he was there.

 

“Of course you do, Harry,” Hermione answered before Hannah cut in.

 

“Were you really going to say no?”

 

“Well, I mean, it seems rather much, don’t you think?” Harry hedged.  “I mean, we haven’t even figured out what’s going on with me and you and Hermione, and now you’re ready to add someone else?”

 

“What can I say? I’m a Hufflepuff—we’re all, the more the merrier, you know,” the girl smiled beatifically at him, batting her eyes and causing the two Gryffindors to snort.  Luna thought this must be some inside joke and decided to laugh.  “Anyway,” Hannah continued, shooting Luna a little bemused look.

 

“Harry,” Hermione stepped in.  “Luna needs to bond with someone before her inheritance to help ground her magic. If she doesn’t, it could turn out very poorly. And, well, we think, Luna and I, that is, that what’s happening between us might be forming something similar to a coven bond.”

 

Hannah’s eyes widened, but Harry just looked at her haplessly. “Like, a witch’s coven? Isn’t that just sort of a secret group of witches who get together and practice witchcraft?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Hannah replied.  “Some of the more famous covens were run by witches, but they’re not always same-sex.  Really, a coven is a group who practices magic together. They can literally share magic between each other, and so when they do spells together, their spell craft is genuinely more powerful.  But covens are really rare. I mean, to be able to find one other person whose magic resonates well with yours is… well, it’s pretty amazing. But to find enough to actually build a coven? That’s rare.”

 

“And yet you’ve already begun,” Luna pointed out.

 

“You’ve seen this already, haven’t you?” the Hufflepuff queried.  “Some of the younger years, they used to call you names. They said you would say the strangest things—and I’ve seen it, too, during DA meetings and study groups.  You see things, don’t you, Luna?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you’ve seen this? A coven of witches, and Harry at the center?”

 

“No,” the Ravenclaw shook her head minutely.  “Not so much. Not so definite.  Just… many possibilities.”  Luna’s luminous silver eyes unfocused and she stared off at the space between them. “So much potential.”

 

“Harry,” Hannah asked, turning back to the recently-shagged teen. “Would you really say no to her? Deny her the help she needs?”

 

“Now, wait just a minute,” Hermione spoke up. “I agree, we need to help Luna, but why should that mean it has to be Harry that grounds her?”

 

“Listen, it’s late,” Harry cut in. “And, to tell the truth, I’m not sure what I think about all this. I mean, do I have to make a decision tonight, or can we talk about this some more tomorrow, after we’ve all had some sleep and some time to think about it some?”

 

“Of course, Harry,” Hannah agreed, shooting an incomprehensible glance at Hermione before gathering Luna up and escorting her out. “See you tomorrow, Harry, Hermione.  Pleasant dreams.”

 

***

 

Nothing had been settled that night or the next. Friday, a letter arrived from Remus. Yes, the Potters did, like many other pureblood families, have some mix in their ancestry—how could they not when most all purebloods in Brittan were in some why related?—but he didn’t know for sure what.  Then had come the interrogation after Harry’s health and wellbeing.

 

Friday night had come and passed, and still Harry wasn’t sure what he would do, although he did spend the evening completing the assignments due on Monday.  Saturday morning dawned, and still Harry wasn’t sure what he should do. Hermione and Hannah weren’t really helpful. Hermione insisted he needed to make his own choice; Hannah seemed to think there was no choice at all.

 

When Luna approached them at lunch time with a small stack of books, he felt horrible, because he still didn’t have an answer for her.  But then again, she didn’t ask him a question, did she?

 

“Here are the books my father sent,” the Ravenclaw announced, setting the books down beside Hermione. The older girl was already reaching for the top volume.  “Harry, I have a few more things to prepare. If you could come by the Room around three, I should have everything ready by then.”

 

And then she’d turned and walked away.

 

And that’s how Harry found himself waiting nervously outside the Room of Requirement, waiting for Luna to invite him in.

 

He still wasn’t sure that he had agreed to this—yes, Luna was a friend and someone he cared about. And his girls seemed to be okay with the idea of him having sex with another girl, which was crazy, but then, so was having sex with two girls, and there he was.  He’d tried asking Hermione a little bit more about covens, but other than witches and wizards sharing magic to do certain powerful spells, nothing really struck out at him as memorable.

 

Luna hummed a merry tune as she showed Harry into the room she had prepared. It looked much the same as the cozy space she had conjured earlier in the week.  With one noticeable difference. He twitched and fidgeted, desperately trying not to look at the seemingly large bed set off to the side. The dancing fire lit the room in a warm glow. The two padded armchairs set before the fireplace invitingly. A soft-looking area rug cushioned the stone floors. There was a table with a centerpiece of what Harry suspected were wild flowers and a platter decorated with fruits and cheeses. There were no painting on the walls, but there were several tapestries. One depicted a woman transfiguring into a tree. Another showed a young girl dancing in a field of flowers. A third caused Harry to look away quickly, cheeks stained with embarrassment.

 

But looking away didn’t help any because Luna was there, smiling pleasantly at him, and he noticed what he had been trying desperately not to notice. Luna was practically naked, which was impressive because she really was covered from neck to ankle. It was just that the robe she was wearing was so sheer, it could have been made from spider webs or demiguise fur. It floated around her slender form, caressing curves he hadn’t even been consciously aware that she possessed.

 

“Luna, I don’t think,” he began nervously, taking a hasty step back as she approached.

 

“Thank you, Harry,” Luna sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “I knew you would be the right choice.” Her breathing deepened, her chest rising, calling his attention to the two pert petite breasts peeking through the gauzy material.

 

“Luna, I really don’t think,” he tried again, but the words strangled to death in a groan as the very air in the room electrified around them.

 

Luna had exhaled deeply, and it was like the world had changed. Harry’s nostrils flared as he took in the sudden scent of her—it was intoxicating. He couldn’t prevent himself from stepping up into her, burying his face against her throat and breathing her in.

 

“Oh, god,” he growled, fingers digging in to her skin and drawing her closer still.

 

“Too much?” Luna gasped, eyes fluttering.

 

“Oh god,” Harry moaned failing to his knees before her. “What—what did you do?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, I just released a bit of my magic,” she murmured. “It can be very overwhelm to one who’s so sensitive.   I don’t want you senseless. Not right away, at least, so I pulled a little of it back in.”

 

“How—oh god. It—I—I want you,” Harry panted, rubbing his face against her belly, hands clutching in the material at her hips. “I can’t even stop myself from touching you, but I can. What did you do?”

 

“You’re very susceptible to your chosen mates,” Luna mused, brushing her fingertips down his cheek. “Especially when our magic fluctuates. Others no longer learn to control this, but the Lovegoods always have. It has always been an essential lesson. If you’d like, I could try teaching the others how to control their magical fluctuations?”

 

“Magical fluctuations? What?” Harry murmured dazedly, breathing her in. It was like her scent was a piece of candy he could roll over his tongue.

 

Luna smiled. “Don’t worry, Harry. I don’t want you to worry about anything here and now. I know what to expect, and I have enough control for the both of us. Now, I believe you’re a bit over dressed, Harry. We need to fix this.”

 

Luna hummed merrily to herself, waving her wand and slashing down with a side flick. “Devisto. Salvin closiato.”  And just like that, he was naked before her.

 

She took his hand and led him to the bed she’d conjured just for this evening. “Relax,” she told him, pushing him back to lay naked on the blankets. He squirmed, and she grinned before climbing up over him. Once more she relaxed her control over her magic and let nature have its way.

 

The result was instantaneous as Harry reared up beneath her, grabbing at her neck and dragging her body down against his. He rolled them over, so that Luna now had her back pressed to the bed and her thighs were forced apart to make room for his hips. She didn’t mind. Even when the sharp pain of teeth cutting into the tender flesh of her throat and shoulder had her crying out, she didn’t mind. With very little rooting at all, he found the core of her and entered with little preparation or warning. She screamed then, as he tore through the shield of her virginity with no hesitation.

 

She forced herself to focus on her breathing, but her entire body was rippling, her magic fighting against her restraint from within and Harry’s magic battering against her from without. She knew he was powerful, had thought she had prepared herself properly…but nothing could have prepared her for the way his magic forced itself inside of her, shattering her shields and freeing her wild magic in a matter of minutes.

 

She screamed again as image upon image crashed against her. Sights of what would be, could be, must never be, filling up her mind’s eye until she thought she would be blinded by the Sight. She had waited too long to ground herself, she thought desperately afraid. She was too close to her inheritance.

 

But then, just as quickly as she’d been overwhelmed, Harry was there, commanding she look at him, see only him as he hovered over her face, body still ploughing away with incredible speed and force.

 

“Mine,” he growled, eyes glowing eerily even in the firelight. “Say it! Mine!”

 

“Yours,” she gasped, feeling a tightening in her loins. “Yours, Harry, yours!”

 

“Mother of my sons.”

 

“Father of my daughters.”

 

He roared, arching over her as his hips gave one might last thrust against her pelvis, and then he shivered, a whole-body quiver, before he crashed down into her. She gasped, body shaking, shocky, as he panted against her throat.

 

And then he nuzzled her and started purring.

 

Luna smiled, slowly petting at the dark damp hair, as she relaxed back into the bed fully and closed her eyes, relieved that there was no rush of unwanted images. She had been right, all those years ago when she foresaw Ronald Weasley would help her with her inheritance—she just didn’t realize he would be the one to introduce her to her future mate. That was alright, though. Things did have a way of working out in the end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder: this story is a work-in-progress. I'm posting it in its raw form because after five years sitting on my hard drive, it's not getting anywhere, fast. Although I do have a general outline and some fixed plot points, much of the actual narrative is... undeveloped. 
> 
> This presents a rare opportunity for me. 
> 
> In most all of my previous narratives, I always seemed to have a firm grasp on the plot and characters (sure, a few of those characters threw me for a loop a time or two, but we worked it out). Not so with Vanteerian. Perhaps it's because of the nature in which I used this fic--to safely express some of my darker moods. Whatever the case, it seems the majority of the story was made up of rape, torture, and dubious consent. I got rather graphic with the Death Eater scenes. Removing the bulk of those scenes from the narrative has left little story. 
> 
> So I would invite all to comment on where they see this story going, what scenes would they like to see. I'm hoping to spark something to help ease this narrative into completion, finally.


	11. The Lioness, & the Vanteerian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mostly Hermione-centric chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> revised

Mon. 10/6 – The Lioness & the Vanteerian  
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Harry didn’t return from the Room until late Sunday evening. Hannah had spent some of the afternoon with her, but mostly, Hermione thought herself poor company. She had read through two of the books Luna had given her already, but they were little more than folklore and legends. It was more than a little frustration for the Gryffindor. On the one hand, much of what she’d read did sound like it could possibly apply to the current situation with Harry, but not all of it, and not exactly. And even more damning, to Hermione’s way of thinking, she could find absolutely no reference to support the books’ claims in the Hogwarts’ library. 

What all the books she did have available to her seemed to agree on was that Vanteerians were an ancient and power race, long thought extinct. Which, in her mind, was simply more damning evidence towards a positive diagnosis of Harry’s condition. After all, if it was unlikely to happen, it would. Six years of friendship with one Harry Potter had taught her that. 

She had tried to stay up Sunday night, waiting for Harry to return. She didn’t want to admit how nervous him being with yet another girl made her feel. After all, if she admitted she was nervous, that would mean she cared more than she should. Harry was her friend—true, they were friends with benefits currently, but still just friends. And yes, she’d agreed to help him have a baby at some point, but that still didn’t mean they were romantically involved or anything. 

Things with Hannah had… well, they were a surprise. Harry hadn’t meant to attack the Hufflepuff prefect any more than he’d meant to attack her. It had been instinctual. Something, if the readings could be trusted, within the girls had called to him on an instinctual level. And if Luna was correct, than a sexual relationship would have been the most natural way for Harry to respond to them. And, yes, it had been very good, Hermione thought blushingly. And she did feel closer to Harry now, a special little bond with her best friend. 

A special little bond that he now would share with two other girls, she thought with a grimace. 

She wasn’t sure what to do. Harry was her best friend. She cared for him deeply, she did. She enjoyed the sexual nature of their recently developed relationship. But she honestly hadn’t seen it being as anything more than temporary. 

But… 

But the thought of not being there, spending time with Harry… it hurt. It hurt worse than the niggling thought of how many others Harry might be with. 

It was ridiculous to expect Harry to be faithful to her. They weren’t in that type of relationship. They were friends, occasionally lovers, but… 

And she honestly enjoyed Hannah’s company. It was quite nice to have an honest to goodness girlfriend, but it was strange, too. Hannah was… so much more open about her sexuality than Hermione. She was confused by it, knowing the other girl had been a virgin at the beginning of the school year, just like her and Harry. And yet… and yet, the blonde had no shame in crawling onto Harry’s lap when they were alone, or kissing him, or touching him, or putting his hands on her body, or… 

Or, Hermione didn’t know what. 

And now there was Luna. 

She liked the Ravenclaw girl. Trusted her. Maybe they weren’t so much friends as they were friendly. Yes, the girl was a little strange, but Hermione had come to see that as simply part of the girl’s charm. And she was smart, brilliant if off-colored. Of course, if what she had said about her magic being skewed because of an accident when she was little was true, that made perfect sense to Hermione. She could easily accept that the other girl saw the world differently. It might make Hermione’s head hurt and the seemingly illogicalness of the other girl, but she could accept that. 

And she could accept that Harry and the blonde Ravenclaw had a special relationship, even before this year. There had been something about the waifish girl that had attracted Harry, Hermione had noticed although she doubted Harry had himself. Harry was a bit clueless like that. Still, she hadn’t thought much of it. At least not before last week. 

But now…

Hermione couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it. Thinking about what Harry and Luna were doing in the Room, possibly right that minute. It had been different with Hannah. Hannah she had learned about after the fact, and then the other girl had been completely open and honest in her attentions. If Hermione had wanted to watch, or heaven forbid actually join them, she knew neither one would have minded. 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. 

Hermione scrubbed her face, as if to forcibly wash away her troubling thoughts. It was Monday. Harry was back in his chambers—alone. Yes, she had checked. He would be getting up in another few minutes, and they would head down to the Great Hall for breakfast together. 

Would he want to talk about his encounter with Luna? How would this change things further between them? How would this change things between her and Luna? Where would Hannah fit in in all this? 

Hermione took several deep breaths and focused on calming her nerves. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she nodded decisively. What would be, would be, she told herself, and she would continue to help Harry face it, no matter what came at them. 

“Harry?” she called, heading out into the common room. “Are you getting up?” 

“Already up,” a bleary-eyed head boy mumbled, trundling sleepily from his dorm. “Breakfast?” 

“If you’re ready?” she prevaricated, casting a dubious eye over his rumpled robes and unruly hair. 

“’m ready,” he yawned. 

And, exasperated, she shook her head and whipped out her wand. More than a few perfunctory grooming charms later, the head boy was looking decidedly more respectable. 

“Thanks, Mione.” He grinned dopily back at her, and she rolled her eyes before snatching up her satchel and heading out through the door he held open for her. Thankfully, he was awake enough to choose the door closer to the Hufflepuff dorms and, thereby, the Great Hall. 

“Really, Harry. You’re going to have to eventually learn some of these charms yourself.” 

“Why when you already know them and can cast them better than I could anyway?” 

“I’m won’t always be around,” she warned. 

“Then I’ll have no one but myself to embarrass, so it won’t matter, would it,” he returned teasingly. 

She snorted. “I think Hannah or Luna might say differently.” 

When he said nothing, she looked to see if he was even still with her, and found him scowling. She paused around the corner from the Great Hall, out of the way of anyone save possibly some early rising Hufflepuffs or DA members. “Are you second guessing your decision this weekend?” 

“That’s just it,” he tried to explain. “I had decided not to do it, but when I got there… I don’t know. Something happened and… well, it just happened. Again. Like before with you and Hannah, only, somehow, Luna could… I don’t know, control it?” 

He looked up at her, still frowning, and felt hapless to do anything but stare back at him. 

“I wasn’t going to do it,” he repeated, as if entreated her to believe him, and she did. Harry had tried to hide the truth, but he never purposefully outright lied to her. “I was going to tell her that we would help her, help her find someone else, someone better, I don’t know! But I knew I’d already hurt you and Hannah, and even if you’ve forgiven me, I hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt anyone like that again. But…” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, hands fisted at his sides, and Hermione’s chest ached for him. But what…? 

“It happened again,” he whispered, as if answering her silent question. “It happened again, just like before, with the scent and the sudden driven need and… but she somehow controlled it,” he added, stunned, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes. “She made it… not so…so intense. I mean, I could think, and I remember more, but I still couldn’t stop.” 

Harry swallowed hard, looking up at her miserably. “Hermione, what’s going on?” 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, Harry,” she told him honestly, closing the distance between them to rub his arm. As if her touch could somehow help him relax…but he did seem to ease up a little. “I’m not sure, but Luna has some good leads, and Hannah and I are starting to put together some possibilities, no matter how seemingly impossible they may be.” 

He snorted dejectedly. “Impossible, that’s me.” 

“Cheer up, Harry,” she told him, and then, impulsively, she darted in and gave him a quick hug. “We’ll figure a way through this. We always do.” 

“You always do, you mean.” 

“And you always manage to succeed,” she countered, offering an encouraging smile back at him. “No matter how seemingly impossible the odds!” 

 

**** 

Hogwarts’ sixth and seventh years—the NEWT years—tended to be the most open scheduled as well as the most academic intensive of the forms. The reason for this being, of course, that once you’ve sat and passed your OWLs, you weren’t required to take any of the core curriculum classes anymore. Unless, of course, you were Hermione Granger, and then your schedule didn’t change all that much.

For Harry, Mondays were his busiest course day, leading off with Potions first and then Transfiguration and Herbology after lunch. One of the other nice things about being a sixth or seventh year was that the classes were no longer separated out by House. So when the study group got together during second block to prepare for one of McGonagall’s famous pass-this-quiz-or-I-will-use-you-as-a-scratching-post cram sessions, it was an eclectic blend of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins who were all sweating it out together. 

“Why is it all wibbly wobbly?” Neville moaned, staring forlornly at his coffee table. 

“Well, at least yours is not all timey whimy,” Michael groused, glaring at his mis-shapened alarm clock. 

“What do you plan on doing with an alarm clock anyway?” Draco drawled, lazily circling his wand and conjuring up a large, heavy footed chair before casually flicking it away. “You can just use an alarm charm.” 

“Not if you’re around muggles, you can’t,” Susan pointed out. 

“Yes, well, Merlin forbid that should ever happen,” Pansy simpered. 

“Here, Neville,” Hannah huffed, leaving her small group to join him. “Are you remembering to keep a clear image about what it is you’re conjuring?” 

“Try not to focus so much on the mechanics,” Hermione suggested to Michael, bemusedly observing the alarm clock that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a psychedelic Alice trip. “Just picture what you want and allow the magic to happen. I’ve found if I get too caught up in the hows and whys something works, the magic doesn’t work, if that makes sense.” 

“It does,” Daphne spoke up. “Magic already knows what a table is, what a chair is, what an alarm clock is. You’re not inventing them, you’re conjuring them—calling them up to existence.” 

“Sort of like an Accio,” Harry mused. “But instead of calling for something that’s already in existence and that you know where it’s at, you’re asking magic to create one for you to use now. Right?”

“You know, that almost made sense,” Draco replied, banishing another throne-like chair. “Well, I think I’m ready, and I’m sure lunch is being served. I’ll see you class then.” 

“Right, I’m done then, too,” Terry called, putting up his wand and basically leading the exodus. 

“Listen Harry,” Ernie caught his attention as the others were leaving. “I managed to speak to a few people about those board games you asked about the other night. We should be receiving them sometime this week.” 

“Really? That’s great, Ernie, thanks,” Harry replied, clapping the other boy on the arm and grinning. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing what kind of board games the wizarding world can boast. They’re really popular in the muggle world, you know.” 

“Yes, well, I thought you’d like to know.” 

“I appreciate it, Ernie. Oh, hey, were you able to set up a time and place for that political group you were thinking of?” 

“Yes, actually. And I wanted to invite you to come. Someone of your caliber and influence… well, you should know what’s going on in our world on the broader scale.” 

“You’re probably right, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now,” Harry hedged. He personally hated the thought of politics and politicians. His dealings with the ministry thus far hadn’t done very much to persuade him otherwise. 

“Well, think on in some, yeah?” Ernie insisted. “We’ll be meeting tomorrow night as sort of a preliminary—see who’s interested and what exactly their interested in. I was thinking more along the lines of discussing the laws and Wizengamot decisions being made, but Mandy and Lisa are talking about discussing how the government is set up and how politics work, so we might just be splitting off into two groups.” 

“Or more,” Harry pointed out. “Or maybe not. There’s no reason why you couldn’t do a little of both every time you meet up. The important thing is that your out there sharing your ideas, right?” 

“If you say so, Harry. Well, I’d best be going. I’m supposed to be meeting Morag this evening and I haven’t quite finalized my plans. Wish me luck, eh?” 

“Good luck,” Harry called after the Hufflepuff agreeably. 

“Now there’s a couple I hadn’t expected,” Hannah mused, coming up behind him. 

“What? Ernie and Morag?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think they’re rather cute,” Hermione commented, fusing with Neville’s wand movements. 

“It’s useless,” the taller boy moaned. 

“Here, Neville, just,” Harry said, coming to the other boy’s rescue. “Just… remember that old end table that used to be in the dorm before Seamus broke it last year?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Remember all the scratches and nicks that used to cover it, and yet how smooth it was because it was all old and worn?” 

“Of course. I used to trip and catch myself on it all the time,” Neville remembered. 

“Well then, make it appear,” Harry commanded. “Right here, right now. Just give your wand a wave and imagine that little table.” 

Neville shot him a dubious look, but he obeyed. Sucking in a deep breath, he shot a nervous look between the three remaining seventh years before swishing and circling his wand tip around in the precise motions for conjuring an inanimate object. 

He exhaled loudly. 

Hannah and Hermione clapped and smiled at him while Harry clapped his arm and shoulder, grinning up at him, green eyes alight with pleasure. “See. Have a little more faith in yourself, Nev. You can do this,” the head boy told him before releasing him and turning back to the girls. “Come on, let’s go get some lunch, yeah?”

The girls struck up a chatter as they led the way out of the empty classroom they’d taken over for their Transfiguration study groups, Harry following closely behind. Neville didn’t. Instead, he sunk onto the little conjured end table, closing his eyes and breathing steadily. 

He wasn’t sure he could continue to do this… 

**** 

 

Professor McGonagall asked Hermione to stay after class, so the others went ahead after shooting her a questioning look. The head girl shooed them off before turning to meet her professor and head of house at the front of the classroom. 

“I was wondering, if you had no plans for this evening,” the Gryffindor head began, “If you would like to stop by my office and have a chat about how things are going for you this year.”

“Professor?” Hermione asked, somewhat confused. She highly respected and admired the Transfiguration Mistress, but it wasn’t like McGonagall had ever fostered any type of relationship with her lions.

“Nothing’s wrong,” the elder assured her. “I’m just curious. After all, you and Mr. Potter are implementing quite a few changes. I would like to hear your take on things, when we both have more time to discuss matters more in depth,” she added as some of her sixth years started to trickle in despite there still being ten more minutes of the break period.

“Of course, Professor.”

“Good, good. I believe you have Herbology next?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, off with you. And, Ms. Granger? Feel obliged to bathe before our meeting. I understand Professor Sprout will have you fertilizing in Greenhouse 2.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione answered, not quite avoiding the wrinkle of distaste at the aforementioned task.  
Herbology was somewhat interesting—especially when she considered how some of the ingredients were used in various ways in different potions or how some remedies had been known to muggle healers for centuries—but she was not overly fond of the subject. Not anything like Neville, who was grinning excitedly and telling them what they would be doing that day as they walked down to the greenhouses as a group.

She was thankful that the others had waited for her, but she could have done without Neville’s ramble. Especially when her mind was so preoccupied by Professor McGonagall’s unusual request. A hand slipped into hers and gave a little shake and squeeze.

“Everything all right?” Harry asked softly when she looked up.

“Fine. The Professor just wants to have a little chat about our plans for this year.”

Harry frowned. “Well, it’s not like it’s all that big of a secret,” he hummed. “I mean, I’ve already mentioned them most to Dumbledore.”

“I don’t know, but I’ll tell you more later, all right?”

“Course.” He smiled and turned away.

***

Hermione stormed up to the prefects’ bath leaving several other tired and miserable seventh years to trail behind her. Fertilizing in Greenhouse 2 her right foot! She fumed, unmindful of the small group of third years who scattered quickly out of her way.

She soaped and showered off three times before she even begun to feel clean, but thankfully that was long enough to somewhat defuse her mad.

“Come relax in the bath,” Hannah called, seeing the head girl finally exit a shower cubicle.

Hermione started—still tense—and then forcibly made herself relax. “I can’t stay long,” she hedged, padding over to the large, steaming bath.

“Why not?” Hannah asked, scooting over to make room for the other girl.

“Professor McGonagall ask me to stop by her office,” Hermione explained, sighing as her body slipped into the heated water. “She wants to have a chat,” she added almost cattily.

“Ooh, you are in a bad mood,” Hannah practically teased. “Maybe you should stop to have some private time with Harry before you go to your meeting.”

“Hannah!” the head girl cried, much to the other girl’s delight as the blonde continued to laugh delightedly. In a fit of pique, Hermione splashed her.

The two girls froze, both stunned… and then a wicked twinkle gleamed in blue eyes and the battle was on. It wasn’t long, but it was absolutely what Hermione had needed to break her bad mood—although, to be fair, anyone would be in a bad mood if a bumbling idiot had managed to land an entire barrel of dung in your lap.

Flushed and panting, the girls clung to the sides of the pools, grinning madly. “I needed that,” Hermione admitted, turning over to settle back into the embedded seat.

“I know,” Hannah grinned back at her. “You were spitting mad. I’m surprised you didn’t hex that gargoyle’s bollocks off.”

Hermione snorted. “Comparing Goyle to gargoyles is really an insult to gargoyles.”

Hannah giggled. “Are you all better for your meeting now?”

“Yes, I think I am. Thank you.”

“No problem. It was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“What? Bathe together?” Hermione teased. 

“I’ll wash your back if you’ll wash mine?” Hannah offered, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.

She stared at the blonde stunned for one full minute before bursting out laughing. “Careful there, someone might think you were hitting on me, and then what would Harry say?”

“He’d probably ask if he could watch,” Hannah chuffed. “Men are apparently all about these crazy lesbian fantasies. Of course, I always thought it would be hotter to watch two guys going at it rather than two girls.”

“It’s supposedly really common and natural for one to be attracted to the idea of two members of the opposite sex engaging in sexual situations,” Hermione spouted. “Well, at least if you were heterosexual, I suppose. If you were homosexual, I would imagine the opposite to be true.”

“You know you go all lectorial when you get nervous about something,” Hannah commented.

“I do not!” Hermione balked, causing Hannah to laugh again as the two girls finally climbed out of the bath.

“So have you ever thought about it?” the blonde asked as she tossed a towel towards Hermione.

“Thought about what?”

“Two guys, going at it?” Hannah watched her from the corner of her eye while pretending to focus on drying herself off. “I mean, I would think, if what you said is true… and then with you being best friends with Harry and Ron…”

Hermione’s face wrinkled into a grimace. “No, I can honestly say I’ve never thought of Ron and Harry ever being sexual together. In fact, the idea…well, it makes me a bit squeamish,” she admitted.

Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I could see Ron and Harry, but I think that’s just because the thought of Ron and anyone being sexy makes me squeamish. How you can stand to be in the same common room as him and Lavender, I don’t know.”

“I know, I know,” Hermione commiserated. “Still, there was a time when I used to like Ron. Well, I mean, that is to say, I thought I had a crush on him. I got over it, you understand.”

“Naturally,” the blonde agreed, and they lapsed into a bit of silence and they pulled on two fresh, generic robes that were waiting for them thanks to the house elves who kept the bathrooms neat and tidy and stocked. “Did you never have a crush on Harry, then? Before this year, I mean.”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I mean, Harry was always just this wonderful, painfully shy boy who had such needy eyes. I loved him, yes, without a doubt. He was my first friend you know, and… well, there was never a doubt in my mind that I would do anything he needed, but…”

“But?”

“But I don’t think I ever really considered the possibility that he would ever need or want me for… well, for a relationship other than what we already had,” Hermione confessed. “It’s not that I’m against it, I’m not! It’s just…”

“It’s just you never could allow yourself to believe that someone as wonderful as Harry would ever want someone as plain as you,” Hannah offered softly, sharing a small, knowing smile with the other girl. “I don’t know why,” she continued, “But I’m glad he did choose me. I mean, even if I’m not his only one, I kinda feel really special and lucky to be able to know Harry like this.”

Hermione smiled. “Yes.”

“Hey, you’d better get going to your meeting with McMonagall. You don’t want her to start coughing up furballs,” Hannah teased. “Will you make it to dinner?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, I’ll make sure to check in on the Charms study group tonight, if you’d like. I know some of the fifth year Ravenclaws offered to lead tonight’s session for the younger years, but I’m not sure if anyone’s offered for the upper years yet.”

“Padma can do it if I’m not back, but I should be,” the head girl murmured, checking her reflection briefly in the mirror before turning back to the blonde. “Thanks, again, Hannah.” And then she darted away, leaving a thoughtful Hufflepuff to follow at her own pace.

***

“Ms. Granger, right on time,” the cat animagus replied when Hermione knocked on the open office door. “Come in, shut the door behind you.”

“You wanted to speak, Professor?”

“Yes, have a seat,” the elder woman directed, conjuring up an elegant tea service. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m afraid I don’t know how you take your tea.”

“Just a dollop of cream, please. Thank you.”

And with that, the pleasantries of ritual were out of way.

“So now, tell me,” Professor McGonagall began after seating herself behind her desk with a cup of milk tea. “How is the year progressing from your point of view?”

“Well, I would say,” Hermione began. “As you know, we’ve started various study groups off the template of the DA.”

“Yes, the other professors were mentioning a noticeable improvement in both student performance and theoretical comprehension,” she fished with a compliment.

“Yes, well, it really helps to have the older students teaching the younger students,” Hermione explained. “It provides for practice and review at the same time. The only ones really left out are the seventh years, but we try to have our own study sessions after the others are done.”

“Understandable. I hope you would feel comfortable to approach one of the professors if you felt you needed more direction in these study sessions?” McGonagall reminded firmly, making a mental note for herself to discuss a possible preemptive move for the teachers. One of them should probably be dropping by these study sessions anyway, just to make sure the students were being safe, of course. 

“Right now, I think we’re capable of handling things ourselves, but I’ll make sure to pass the offer along. If anything, I could see maybe one or two approaching a professor and then coming back to teach the group.”

“It is an interesting program you and Mr. Potter have set up. Students teaching students.”

“It’s proving helpful for everyone.”

“The staff agrees,” McGonagall informed her. “We approve. But these study groups are not the only projects you and Mr. Potter have designed…?”

“No, we now have the mentorship program running. There are a few students that are still proving difficult to match up, but I think we’ve managed to pair or group up the majority. It’s been… an interesting challenge.”

“Indeed. And remind me, how exactly is this program meant to work?”

“Well, it’s really more of a security system for everyone. It pairs younger students with older students, sometimes two or three different students, which gives you access to someone else if you’re having a problem or dilemma or just need to talk to somebody.”

McGonagall frowned a little at that last. “I would think that’s what one’s head of house was for.”

“With all due respect, it’s not the same,” Hermione tried to answer delicately.

“But that’s what we’re here for, to help lead and guide the students in our house,” the older woman protested.

“But it’s not always leadership we need as students,” the head girl countered. “If we need to gripe about a teacher, we can’t go to our head of house just to blow some steam. If we’re having relationship issues with our boyfriend or girlfriend, we can’t go to a Professor. If we’re feeling homesick or missing the conveniences of the muggle world or we’re feeling especially confused by something in the wizarding world… These are things better suited by someone closer in age who can understand the immediacy of our issues. I’m sorry professor, but Professor Snape is the youngest professor on staff, and I certainly can’t see anyone not in Slytherin voluntarily going to him to complain about anything.”

McGonagall attempted to hide a smile, unsuccessfully. “No, I suppose not. Well, all right then. But why not use the prefects for this? After all, there is a reason we have for selecting them.” 

“Yes, and the prefects do help lead their house’s mentorships, but this way, by spreading out the responsibility to include everyone, well it fosters more relationships this way. And it’s not all about leadership and following the rules, like the prefects are. A mentor is a person to help connect you to the bigger picture. It’s why we tried to be so careful when matching people up.” 

And this mentorship is progressing well?”

“It’s still too new to say for certain,” Hermione hedged. “But we have hopes for it to continue. Right now, almost everyone except the first years have a mentoree, someone who can come to them for help or advice. And everyone except the seventh years have a mentor—someone they can go to for help or advice. It was a little tricky, just because there are so many younger years than uppers.”

“Mmm,” she hummed agreeably. The staff had all been commenting on the number of younger students. If the class sizes continued to grow, Hogwarts would have to hire more staff. “The headmaster has alluded to several other pet projects for this year?”

“Yes!” Hermione grinned excitedly. “We’ve already started with some extra clubs—chess club and board games were the first two to get started. And McMillian is trying to start up a political club. There’s talk of a drawing group and musicians’ group, too. Someone mentioned foreign languages, and a few of the muggle borns asked about football, rugby, and even basketball.”

McGonagall blinked. “It used to be, in years gone past, Hogwarts offered many more extracurricular electives. There were classes for Art Appreciation, Musical Studies, Healing, Warding, Dueling, Politics, Estate management, Laws, Wizarding Etiquette, and even different languages.”

“I know. It said so in ‘Hogwarts: A History’, but it also said that funding ran low during periods of strife and so all but the deemed core-curriculum classes were kept,” Hermione shared. “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Divination was the next class to be cut, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it was,” McGonagall confessed. “Nearly twenty years ago.”

“Yes, well, there might still be a war going on and the wizarding world is still experience ‘periods of strife’, but that doesn’t mean our education and enrichment should suffer,” Hermione proclaimed. “Right now we’re just looking towards what the students are interested in for this year. If we had more time, we’d try tackling some of the other subjects. I know swordsmanship and weaponry is not really needed for this day and age, but I think I would enjoy fencing. And there used to be a home and craft class that taught all sorts of useful charms and spells for running a household. Or the basic healing class? Wizarding law?”

Hermione sighed. “There’s just so much we still don’t know yet, and we’re expected to graduate and be productive citizens in less than a year…”

“Ms. Granger,” the elder witch sighed. “I know it can be daunting, the thought of leaving these castle walls and going out to make your own way… and you are right. There are still many things you don’t yet know, nor will you know for many years yet. But it is my upmost belief that with your heart and your courage, there is nothing you cannot achieve. Now, here, have a biscuit.”

Hermione stared bemusedly at the tin of shortbread that suddenly appeared before her. Obediently, she took one, and she even gave it a nibble.

“Now, I believe that you are on the right track with these extracurriculars you and Mr. Potter are setting up, and it does the students good to have more say in their education. Perhaps they will remember it in years to come and help fund those classes for when the time comes for their children to attend. One can only hope. In the meantime, if I may, I wonder how things are progressing between you and Mr. Potter?”

“Harry?”

“Yes. The role of head boy is not the easiest, and there are some who say he lacked experience because he was not made a prefect first.”

“That’s a bunch of rubbish!” Hermione nearly shouted. “Harry’s a natural leader, all the other prefects look up to him. Half of these ideas for getting the houses to socialize more are his! Plus, he has all the experience of leading the DA.”

McGonagall’s lips twitched. “Indeed. And you have not found it too arduous sharing the head boy’s and girl’s common area with him?”

“Why would I? I mean, we’ve been friends since first year and shared Gryffindor’s common room just fine. Sure, it’s a bit smaller than we’re used to, but then again, we’re not entertaining an entire house of students, just our friends or mentorees or a study group or impromptu prefect meeting.”

“You remind me much of another young Gryffindor couple,” the old woman sighed wistfully. “Sometimes I find it difficult not to believe you’re the reincarnation of Lily and James.”

“It’s my belief that Harry is a better person than his father was,” Hermione said stoutly, “and I really don’t know enough of Lily other than everyone speaks highly of her, so, I thank you for the compliment.”

“Ah, well, when you get to be my age, you’re continually seeing the parents in the children,” McGonagall mused. “Or sometimes grandchildren. Well, then, I shant keep you longer, Ms. Granger. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”

“Certainly, professor,” Hermione replied, moving to stand. And then she thought of something. “Professor, if I may?”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Have you heard of a Vanteerian?”

She looked startled at first, and then thoughtful, which made Hermione hopeful—not that she didn’t trust Hannah’s and Luna’s information per say. More that over a week at the library had turned up nothing but occasional allusions to the creature, and that just wasn’t enough to reassure her of the credibility of Luna’s books from home.

“Vanteerian is the name of the race,” McGonagall said finally. “They are referred to as Vanteera in the singular.”

Hermione blinked. “That might be why I was unable to find anything…”

“Doubtful. They’re a very old, very magical, very mythical being, long believed to be extinct. Very few tales still exist that speak of them by that name. May I ask where you came across such a name? It’s not one you hear often, even in learned circles.”

“Luna,” Hermione answered before having to clear her throat. “Luna Lovegood mentioned it, and then Hannah Abbott said she remembered something about them, but when I looked in the library, I couldn’t find much of anything about Vanteerians.”

“No, I should think not,” McGonagall huffed. “Like I said, they are a mythical magical being long thought to be extinct, long before this castle was built. It is said they are the ancestors of many of today’s magical beings, however—the Veela, the vampire, the weres, the slyphs, and some even say they are the original Lilitheans.”

“I see,” Hermione murmured, frowning. That certainly conformed with what she had read in Luna’s books. “Thank you,” she concluded, nodding towards the older witch before leaving. 

She did not see the worried look the elder shot her.

***


	12. A Meeting of Staff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teachers. Such gossips.

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Wednesday, October 8, 1997

 

“I think it strange, is all,” Minerva McGonagall was heard commenting as she and Poppy Pomfrey entered the lounge where monthly staff meeting were regularly held.

“Most of your house is strange,” Severus mumbled, moving a chess piece at the board laid out between him and Filius.

The shorter wizard chuckled. “Well, to each their own quirks!” he chirped, moving his piece decisively. “Checkmate!”

“Damned.”

“What say you, Minerva? Chance a game before Dumbledore arrives?” the Charms master entreated as the youngest member of staff and head of house currently at Hogwarts turned away in peevishness. It was always a delight to trounce Severus—simply because it was a rare occasion. The Gryffindor head of house and mediwitch made their way to the side table to collect their refreshments while they waited for the rest of the staff to arrive.

“Not tonight, Filius, thank you,” Minerva replied, graciously accepting the cup of tea Poppy handed her. “No, rather, I wondered what you could tell me about vanteerians? Ms. Granger mentioned the name to me the other day, saying she’d heard it from one of your ravens, Ms. Lovegood.”

“Well, goodness! Now there’s a creature you don’t hear spoken of very often now and days,” Filius squeaked. “Trust Ms. Lovegood to know of it. She does know her magical beings and creatures!”

“If one believes in such things as snorkrats and jingleboppers,” Severus snarked, moving to replenish his own tea. “But in this case, she is correct. There was such a being known as a vanteera.”

“Yes, I know,” Minerva snapped back. “I remembered that much, but what else I could remember was only that they were supposedly the precursors of today’s weres, veelas, vampires, and slyphs.”

“Not exactly,” Filius corrected. “It would be more correct to say those modern beings are more of a cadet branch of the vanteerias, wouldn’t you say, Severus?”

The Potions Master turned Defense Professor huffed. “Nearly. It was a very rare magical creature to begin with. Many thought of them as fallen angels or spiritual deities. They were even worshipped in some cultures. Others thought they were demons from another plane of existence. That is where the rumors of them being related to our modern day creatures derive.”

“What do you mean?” Poppy asked, settling at the table halfway down from the heads of house just as the Hufflepuff head of house came tearing into the room full of high dungeon.

“I mean, Filius, I truly mean it!” Pomona shouted. “If you don’t keep that fool out of my dandelions, I’m going to sic my snapdragons on him! No proper respect for plants!”

“Mr. Talgart again, I presume?” Severus mused.

“You presume correctly!” the tuffity elder witch humfphed. “That boy is a nuisance to gardens all over!”

“Come, now, Pomena, I’m sure the lad meant well,” Minerva tried.

“No, no he didn’t! Barbarian, that’s what he is!”

“I’ll make sure and have another word with Ian tonight, shall I?” Filius offered.

“I think you should because I mean it, Filius, I will not be held accountable if that boy ruins another patch!”

“He’s not hurt, is he?” Poppy asked warily, wondering if she would be excused from tonight’s meeting.

“From dandelions? Of course not,” Severus scowled. “Even if he managed to fall face first into the lot of them, most he would suffer is a bit of a headache when he finally awoke.”

“The boy is fine. It’s my dandelions that are all riled up!” the herbologist exclaimed. “Thankfully Mr. Longbottom stopped by this afternoon, and he’s working his magic as week speak.” The Hufflepuff shot a questioning look towards the boy-in-question’s head of house.

“No, Pomena, for the last time, I don’t know,” Minerva sighed. “Neither Augusta nor the boy has chosen to confide in me as to whether or not the boy received his family’s inheritance. In truth, I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned something to you.”

“I would think it fairly obvious the boy’s inheritance,” Severus sneered. “Was there little doubt after his abysmal performance in potions?”

“That’s no concrete proof, Severus, and you know it,” Minerva huffed.

The potions and defense master shrugged negligently and leaned back in his chosen chair.

“Speaking of inheritances,” Poppy spoke up. “I have Ms. Whilthby back in the infirmary for observation this evening.”

Minerva sighed. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told her that she is highly unlikely to inherit her however-times-removed grandaunt’s condition.”

“Yes, well, we have another three sixth years who have birthdays this month, and I shouldn’t need to remind you all to keep an eye open for them.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Severus agreed. “And yet, you do, at every meeting.”

“Now, Severus, a little redundancy never hurt.”

“Truly? I have always found it excruciatingly painful.”

“Ach, well, consider it retribution then. I understand you took another hundred points from your younger years today,” Filius teased. “Karma, you know.”

“And speaking of redundancy,” Minerva put in. “You were about to tell us about Vanteerians, Severus?”

He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest and he glared at them all. Many of the other professors had trickled in and settled themselves around the table with their cups and cakes. Aurora and Charity had been babbling about something or another, but they both mummed up and turned to face his end of the table. Irma had slid silently into the chair beside him. They were just waiting on a few others now. And Dumbledore.

Minerva returned his look steadily, folding her hand on the table as if to say she would wait him out. He unfolded his arms and leaned back in his chair before deigning to continue with the impromptu dark creatures lesson.

“The vanteera was a supposedly beautiful creature—more beautiful than a siren or veela. It was purported to be in possession of incredible strength—stronger than a vampire or lycanthrope—and its magical power was considered immense. They were highly sexualized creatures, like the lilithean or succubae, and were said to sustain nourishment from such relations. These comparisons are why it is assumed to be a precursor to our modern creatures. That, and the belief that the vanteera existed first.”

“Rather an argument of the chicken and the egg, isn’t it?” Septima mused behind her tea cup.

“Yes, well, the creature itself was said to have two natural forms—that of a humanoid and that of a feline, usually a predator such as a panther or lion,” he added with a small nod towards Minerva.

“And wings,” Filius tooted. “Big, black wings. That’s how many of the tapestries and drawings depicted them. As large winged game cats.”

“Wings like a bird?” Pomora asked, intrigued. “Similar to the sphinx?”

“Like a bat,” Severus corrected swiftly. “Large and smooth, sleek wings—the blackest of blacks—and razor sharp claws that can inject a poison into its victim with the merest swipe.”

“Are they natural shapeshifters?” Sinistra asked. “Or is it more of a curse, like lycanthropy?”

“Oh, no, indeed,” Filius answered excitedly. “It is a true form for the vanteria, and they can even take on the form of a simple housecat or even a bat!”

“Which doesn’t matter much at all since they are considered a long extinct being,” Severus wrapped up.

“Which is sad indeed,” Albus intoned as he entered the room. “Of which being are were discussing?”

“Vanteerian, Albus,” Minerva supplied readily. “Ms. Granger made mention of the creature the other day, heard it from the Lovegood girl, apparently, and wanted to know what I know, and I realized, I didn’t know all that much.”

“Ah, a fascinating creature indeed,” Albus mused, petting his long beard. “Emotional, primal, and highly family orientated. Extremely protective of their mate and circle.”

“Their circle?” several voices chimed in, and even Severus looked questioning. Albus smiled genially. “Why, yes. While most sources will agree that a vanteera mates for life—one mate, and if something happens to that mate, then the other will pine away and die. There are other sources, however, that suggested that the vanteerian would actually live in a larger family-like circle. There would be one prime couple, the alpha couple, and then there would be several other secondary mates and couples. Since the vanteeria feed on pleasure and sexual gratification, it would only make sense for the creature to have multiple food sources. And research suggests that any offspring would be reared by the entire circle.”

“You’re speaking of a harem,” Poppy sniffed.

“Similar, I suppose,” Albus agreed, but he couldn’t resist adding, “Or a coven.”

“I don’t remember reading anything about a vanteera having more than one mate let alone living in a…a harem,” Severus groused.

“No, quite possibly not,” the headmaster agreed. “After all, the creatures were already quite endangered by the time some of my earliest references were first being recorded. They were considered extinct not long after. I would think it difficult to live in a family when there are no more of your species.”

“So if one did survive, it most likely mated outside of its race,” Aurora mused sadly.

Septima nodded. “It would give itself the best odds of survival, as opposed to outright extinction. It’s quite possible it did interbreed with other creatures and thus beget the beasts we are familiar with today.”

“While this has been a riveting conversation,” Dumbledore called his professors’ attention as he spied Sybil slipping in. “I applaud you all, and I thank you for making it to our staff meeting in such a timely manner. And now that we are all here, perhaps, we might begin, so the sooner you all may return to your evening…”

“But Albus,” Minerva protested. “Where’s Hagrid?”

“Ah, I’m afraid our Care of Magical Creatures Professor has been called into the forest for an urgent matter. It is a shame, for I know he would have truly enjoyed our earlier discussion.”

“He’ll be all right?” Charity asked nervously.

“My dear, I ask you not to worry about Hagrid. He is quite safe in the forest, and he will be back before the morning. Now, I should like to know of any pressing concerns that have revealed themselves after a full month’s of lessons. The first years are settled in, I trust?”

“Yes, all sixty-one of them,” Minerva replied tersly.

“It is quite a lot,” Aurora commented. “Without the upper forms’ assistance, I should find myself quite overwhelmed to help them all.”

“I’ve opened some of the old study rooms,” Irma announced, “to provide for more space for smaller groups or individuals to work in peace. There’s just too many students to service in just the main floor of the library now.”

“Why, that’s marvelous! Some of those rooms haven’t been opened in decades.”

“That’s dangerous,” Minerva countered, and Severus agreed.

“More students, more chances for trouble.”

“Don’t be such a humglum, Severus,” Bethsheda finally spoke up. “It’s a good thing for there to be more children in this old building. Haven’t you all noticed how much happier the castle seems with the extra numbers?”

“Still so much lower than decades past,” Pomora noted sadly.

“Still more than this staff should safely be asked to handle with our limited numbers,” Minerva countered. “This mentoring system Harry and Hermione have set up, it’s helpful, but it doesn’t replace good adult supervision, Albus.”

“And we’ve spoken on this before, Minerva,” the headmaster countered.

“If the funds aren’t available, then we must find them!” she shouted forcibly. “Do you know that the students are setting up extra-curricular clubs? Clubs to teach themselves! Teach themselves subjects we should be instructing them in! The school can’t be put off and neglected much longer, Albus. You need to talk to the Board of Governors. Convince them to allot more galleons to the budget so that we can hire proper staffing.”

“The children are doing well to start,” Filius agreed. “But not even a book can replace the solid support of an experienced wand.”

“Right now it’s simple things,” Minerva continued. “Games and talk groups, but Hermione tells me they’re also talking about studying languages and the arts. She even mentioned healing and fencing!”

“While many of the minor charms are safe for the children to practice with,” Poppy interjected, “Serious damage could result from even the smallest miscasting of any of the more-than-basic spells.”

“You’re going to have to face facts, Albus,” the deputy headmistress said sternly. “We need more support.”

“The children need more support,” Pomora added. “It really isn’t fair to them, and quite honestly, I’m finding it difficult to keep track of so many at once. There’s simply too many of them. We need help.”

“I could do with an assistant or two,” Filius admitted. “Currently, I have a few of my Ravenclaws assisting me, but Pomora’s right. It really isn’t fair to them, not when they have their own studies to attend to.”

“I’m concerned,” Septima shared, “that this trend will continue for another decade more. It would behoove us to make preparations now before it is too late and becomes a serious problem.”

“It is already a problem,” Severus grumbled, and Septima nodded to him in acknowledgement but didn’t speak further.

In his chair at the head of the table, Dumbledore sighed. “I will, of course, go to the governors once more and express to them our concerns.”

“Fat lot of good that will do,” Bethsheba cackled. “You should try letting some of us speak to them, or better yet, the students. I bet you if some of your Ravenclaws, Filius, or your Slytherins, Severus, wrote home to their mommies and daddies, and then those parents started writing to the governors then we’d start seeing some changes around here, and for the better.”

Severus looked bored at the suggestion, but both Filius and Pomora looked intrigued. Even Minerva seemed to be considering the idea.

“Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger have quite an ambitious schedule planned,” Minerva told them casually. “She would not tell me everything, but I was given the impression that these extra tutorial classes and the mentorship program were only the beginning.”

“Indeed,” Albus allowed, nodding. “In fact, I have with me this evening, a new proposal from our headboy and girl. A request.”

“What do they want now? A petting zoo?” Severus scoffed.

“Careful they don’t hear you say that,” Septima chastised. “They might just think it’s a good idea!”

“Ah, not quite. Nothing so mundane,” the headmaster hedged, retrieving a parchment from his many pockets. “Here it is, Minerva?” he asked, handing the roll over to his deputy. “If you would?”

The Gryffindor head of head tool the parchment and quickly scanned it, her eyebrows rising ever higher the further along she went. “Ms. Granger suggested this?” she asked in disbelief.

“It was Mr. Potter who delivered the request,” Albus reminded her.

“Well? What is it now?” Severus demanded.

“They’re asking to hold a traditional Samhain celebration,” Minerva told him, handing the parchment over to Filius who was sitting beside her. “In addition to the normal Halloween Feast.”

“Oh, I say!” Several of the other professors twittered on excitedly. “We haven’t hosted a Samhain ritual for the students in… ages!”

“No, we haven’t,” Albus agreed, frowning slightly.

“And this was Potter’s idea?” Severus scoffed.

“I detect Ms. Granger’s work here,” Filius put in. “It’s quite detailed in its requested itinerary.”

“Not to mention it’s Ms. Granger’s handwriting,” Minerva pointed out.

“Never the less, the request comes from Harry,” Albus said even as Filius passed on the parchment to Severus. “As he put it, he wishes to honor his parents’ memory more appropriately than a feast.”

Many of the professors at the table made maudlin noises at that statement, but Severus remained as stoic as ever. For years, he honored the death and loss of his dearest friend in private, sneering at all the others of the wizarding world who celebrated the day joyously. And now her son, nearly grown a full man, was here to try and publicize her sacrifice. He practically vibrated in his seat with rage.

“It’s a very respectfully thought out ritual,” Filius said approvingly. “And it allows for all others who have suffered losses.”

“Oh, it is quite traditional,” Pomora exclaimed, unabashedly looking over Severus’s shoulder, and when his hands began shaking too badly for her to read easily, she plucked the parchment from his fingers and placed it on the table near the other professors so they could read it, too.

“Have you given your permission, yet?” Septima asked, looking down the table towards the heads. “Only, I should like to make some small changes to my lessons to better prepare any of my students who wish to participate fully in such a ritual.”

“Oh, that’s a marvelous idea,” Aurora exclaimed. “I usually do something for the students, too, but if they’re to hold a traditional ritual, I’ll be able to make more explicit concrete connections for them!”

“Then you approve?” Albus asked, smiling benignly.

“Of course!” Pomora laughed. “It’s a lovely idea, and the students’ own! We should do our best to honor our students’ requests, especially when it connects to our history and past. My herb garden is just about done, so I can easily have my first years collect the proper clippings.”

“It says here they want to set up an alter outside the Great Hall,” Charity frowned. “Do you think some of the muggleborns might not protest?”

“I think you’ll find them much more excited at the prospect of participating in something magical than you would them protesting,” Severus purred. “Unless, of course, you’re asking them to do extra work.”

“So we’re agreed then?” Albus cut in. “I shall tell Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger that their Samhain celebrations are approved?”

“We should see about writing some of the parents, though,” Minerva suggested. “We’ll definitely need the extra support! And Severus, perhaps you could take a few moments in one of your classes to review protective circles and warding?”

And with that, the meeting went on.

****

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, October 10, 1997-- Dark beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All those warnings listed in the tags? Yep. This chapter will begin to hit on about half of them... The squirmy half. At least for the first part.

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-Two nights later-

He let the report he was reading fall back to the desktop with disgust. He was in a foul mood, he knew. Though the results of months’—no, years’ worth of plans, he found the lot of it to be tedious. Beneath his skill.

Still, it was important to know what going on, and verbal reports tended to be delivered with too much stuttering and groveling… They were a great waste of his time. He looked at the office around him, ready for a break.

This manor home had been… generously gifted to him for his private use shortly after his rebirth. It was a standing testament to how diminished the wizarding world had become. Merely three decades before, the house sheltered one of many of the cadet branches to the Rookwoods. Now, that family was nearly extinct, the properties and holdings of that once proud family laying fallow. The Rookwoods were merely one of the many pureblooded families that were quickly dying out.

He stood and left the home office, choosing to wander the empty hallways of the home. It was a quaint little manor—not as large as some of his followers. Not as large as even his father’s manor—but it suited his needs perfectly, with only a limited few allowed access to its grounds. This was now his private domain, one of many properties that had been deeded to the cause. His cause.

He smirked, thinking on his plans, their progress. With a snap decision, he turned towards the parlor and the floo connection to be found there. It would do well for all if he were to make an unannounced inspection of his properties and see for himself how some of his plans were progressing. It was always a… delight… to watch the younger minions scrabble and scurry when he approached.

He chose Duval Hall as his first stop. Both it and Madrona were located near the coast of Cornwall. Many of his followers had been to both locations, but Madrona he preferred to use for official and unofficial meetings on a large or small scale. Many of his planning parties took place in that home, but it was Duval Hall where many of his followers preferred to visit.

Not that he blamed them, he mused as he entered through one of the private apparition points warded specifically for himself. A flick of his wand sent a disillusionment charm trickling over his head and shoulders, like raw egg sliding down one’s neck. A small swirl cast a silencing charm on his feet least he alert any would-be attentive sentry. He chuckled quietly to himself.

Would-be attentive, indeed, for it wasn’t likely. Too many dependent entirely upon the wards to protect themselves and lost themselves in the pleasures and delights to be found within Duval Hall. Really, it was more of a play house, he thought fondly. A safe haven for those upright pillars of society to flex their power and release their frustrations. A booster for those too weak or pitiful to feel power over some other wretched human being. Hell for those unfortunate enough to be guests.

Each property had a suite set aside as his personal chambers, and it was to here he apparated before stealing down the back staircase like a thief. It amused him, to be sneaking around his own properties, spying on his own people. You could learn so much about a person when they didn’t know you were watching. It was a skill he had employed often when he was younger, he thought fondly, rubbing a thumb along the bulky ring on his right hand.

In the kitchen, he found a house elf at the stove and two robed wizards at the table discussing menial ministerial office work. Uninteresting. He moved on. Duval Hall was a decent-sized manor home. There were three levels, plus a two level basement. Off the kitchen were two dining rooms, one formal, one informal. Elsewhere on the ground floor there were the typical lord’s and lady’s salons and a parlor room that might at one time have been a music room or library. Another room was what obviously had been a library or personal study. Upstairs, there were a total of six bedrooms plus a children’s suit. Downstairs, there was an empty wine cellar and ritual chamber.

The building had come to them with but the bare bones, but that was fine. It suited his needs perfectly as a location for his people to… play.

In what would have been the larger, formal dining room, the two longer walls accessorized dangling shackles, the heavy iron chains sprouting from the walls, ceiling, and floors. There was space allotted for six guests and two very special seats of honor towards the center of the room. Currently, only one of the wall shackles was in use—a female of debatable health and stature. In the center of the room, two of his own were working over another female, strapped into the harness and mewling pitifully.

He moved on. The smaller dining room was empty save for a dirty, huddled entity in one corner. He didn’t bother to investigate. There were three large dog crates in the parlor, but only one was occupied by a whimpering boy. In the lady’s salon, a girl lie sprawled across the floor, bleeding from numerous, shallow cuts, panting and shivering, her back an intriguing lattice work of angry lash marks. In the lord’s salon he found two more of his people sitting around, enjoying a drink while they pet and fondled two naked little girls, sisters from the looks of them.

Frowning, he made his way back upstairs to investigate. Duvall Hall was supposed to be one of his more populated guest houses, and yet, he’d only counted seven. There should have been another dozen, easily. Upstairs he found more vacant rooms, one encrusted with blood and offal, but no other living bodies.

Scowling and annoyed, he quickly vanished to inspect the two other homes that were set up similarly to Duvall Hall and found them equally as under staffed. The farm in Lincolnshire, Belfair, and Bryn Mawr in Wales had a handful of slaves each. Furious, he apparated to back to Cornwall and strode intently into the main meeting all of Madrona.

“Wormtail!” he bellowed, whirling when he heard the simpering rodent. “Your arm.”

He ignored the sniveling creature, focusing instead on calling his key players. Shoving the whimpering Death Eater at his feet away, he settled onto the large throne-like chair at the end of the room and waited. Appearances were important, he reminded himself, working to sooth his roiling magic—a feat he would have failed at even a year ago, he was ashamed to admit, even to himself. Once more, he caressed the large family ring on his right hand. It had been the right choice, he reminded himself. He had been too unstable, too… insane.

He sneered.

He would have preferred to have used the diary, of course, but unfortunately, the diary was no more. For which Lucius had suffered dearly for. The ring had sufficed, however, to help him regain control. It was now a matter of retraining his mind—a much slower process, indeed.

Swiftly, several robed figures swept into the meeting hall, sinking gracefully to their knees before him.

He left them waiting. Waiting till the last had arrived.

“I decided to tour my properties this evening,” he hissed mildly, as if discussing the weather for the weekend. Calmly, lackadaisically. The bodies before him were well trained indeed; they shifted not a muscle. “Tell me, did you know our caches were so low… Pike?”

“My Lord,” the healer began, nervously wetting his lips. “Yes, my Lord, and for good reason.”

“Really? Pray tell. What possible ‘good’ reason is there for our caches being practically empty?”

“They have been moved to Springbrook House, my Lord,” the healer rushed to inform him. “As per the plans you shared with me.”

He was intrigued. “The house is up and ready?”

“My Lord,” a second death eater spoke.

“Yes, Smethwyck, what is it? Speak!”

“Our spell crafters finished warding the property only last week,” the stocky man replied. “We’ve been working to relocate the promising ones and test out the different rooms’ capabilities.”

“And why was I not informed of this sooner?” he growled.

“You asked us to oversee the project, sir, my lord,” the third death eater spoke, his thick voice marred by his heavy accent. “We had planned to present it to you once everything had been finalized. There are still a few—“

“I wish to see it,” he demanded pushing to his feet.

“Of course, my lord,” Smethwyck grimaced. “It is, however—“

“Now,” he snapped, cutting the fool man off. If he hadn’t been necessary for this project… Ah, well, he was still useful. And Peltier… the young man was full of promise and potential. Much like himself when he was younger, he mused. “Peltier, you may take me there now.”

“Of course, my lord,” the young man replied with a short bow. “Springbrook House may be found……”

The property was steeped in old magic, and had come to them when a great-aunt of a great-aunt had finally died, leaving Livius Peltier as the only viable inheritor. The young Peltier, fresh from the halls of Durmstrang and eager to please his lord, had offered the old home to the cause. Like so many times before, he had graciously accepted, but he knew… One step upon that blessed land and he had known…

Springbrook House was to become the keystone to one of his grandest, most ambitious plans.

The plan had gestated more than a year ago. His beloved Nagini was brooding… So many homes left empty, family lines dying out… The wizarding world was dying. And that could not be allowed to happen.

Peltier led him to the main gates of the small estate, officially added him to the wards, and then swiftly stepped back to allow him entrance. “Springbrook House, my lord. May it please you.”

He said nothing, merely striding forward and up the small walk that led to the front door. Pike, Smethwyck, and Peltier followed. It was an unassuming structure from the outside, but he knew the laborious hours of warding and spell crafting that covered the house from ground up. Appearances, after all, could be deceiving.

The cloak room opened up to a long hallway with many doors.

“Is there someplace in particular my lord would like to see first?” Peltier diplomatically inquired.

“I wish to see it all,” he replied, looking down at the boy.

“Of course. You may recall, Springbrook boast four levels from ground up,” the boy began the tour. “Here on the ground floor we have the dining room, study, parlor, along with two guest rooms. Below are the kitchens and a fully functional potions lab. We will be able to brew to all of our requirements. On the first floor, we have prepared several comfortable living suites for your people, my lord. The third and fourth floors have been expanded and devoted to attending to the breeders and nursery.”

“Show me.”

“Shall we begin from the top and work our ways down?” Smethwyck suggested nervously, motioning to the simple staircase. “The nursery is empty at the moment, of course, but we have nanny elves already at the ready. Each of the top two floors has time compression capabilities, although we haven’t tested them out for longer than a few hours yet.”

“What good is but a few hours?” he hissed as he made the climb up; passed the first floor landing, ignoring the uncannily similar corridor of doors; passed the second floor landing, where there were no doors at all, only a wall mural; up to the third floor, which boasted an almost cheerful open area with five doors.

“That’s just for our trials, my lord,” Smethwyck rushed to explain. “Once we are fully operational, the time chambers should be able to move months at a time.”

“Except for the nursery,” Pike piped up, stepping forward to usher him into the first room. “The time compression for the nursery has been set for only a week, but that’s to ensure the babes’ health. We estimate the first arrivals will be here before the end of the month,” the healer went on. “As you can see, we’ve already prepared this room for our current population.”

He could see. The room, while not small, per say, was also not very large, but what there was of it was filled with baby bedding. Along one wall was a row of basinets. Along the other two, were cribs. In the center were several rocking chairs, leaving the final wall free for a large armoire and what he suspected to be a changing table.

“Yes, and by the time the first group is ready to graduate to cribs, there will be plenty of new arrivals to take their place,” Smethwyck crowed.

“The three other rooms on this level are similar to this,” Peltier explained. “While the other is a play room. Shall we continue down?”

They did. Instead of going down the same stairs they had ascended, Peltier led them to a second stair case towards the rear of the house. “The second floor,” Pike explained, “can only be accessed from the kitchen or the nursery.”

“A safety precaution,” Smethwyck added.

And there he found their missing cache.

It was laid out like an infirmary, which had been obviously enlarged past the capacity of the building’s original structure. Towards the very back of the room was another door. Between them and that door sat cot after cot, stretching the entire length of room, at least twenty a row. Half the beds were already occupied, most with women but some men, all asleep and all at various stages of pregnancies.

“We’re currently set up for sixty,” Smethwyck explained, “but we possess to capacity to nearly double that if needs be.”

“The breeders are doing well,” Pike spoke up, moving to walk the rows, his wand out and casting diagnostic charm after diagnostic charm. “And no anomalies have been detected in the babes. I have several medically trained elves that monitor this room always, and I’ve designed a special delivery room in the back so that when one goes into labor he or she won’t disrupt the others.”

“Very good,” he mused, studying the sleeping forms. They had done well. It was a promising start, but it was only a start. “If this does well, we will create another Springbrook,” he told them.

“Shouldn’t we next prepare for when the babes are ready to leave here?” Peltier questioned. “Even with the slower time compression, the first will have begun to outgrow this place within a year.”

He resisted the urge to hex the boy just for questioning him…just barely. “Another will be in charge of that phase,” he told them, even though in truth he hadn’t planned that far yet. He would have to decide who he should foist the unamusing toddlers onto. After all, he didn’t care for children. He wanted followers and soldiers, good little biddable minions who went out and followed orders.

“Yes, of course, my lord,” Pike was quick to acquiesce. “We will, of course, be happy to establish as many Springbrook homes as you wish.”

“Yes, you will,” he purred menacingly. “I wish to see the ground floor now. Take me.”

They took yet another stair case, this one leading to the afore mentioned kitchen where a large wooden table dominated.

“Would Masters be wanting something to eat?” a diminutive house elf squeak fearfully from the sink basin.

“No, thank you, Claris. We’re just walking through.”

“Very good, Master Livius.”

“This way, my lord,” Peltier continued, leading on to yet a different stair case and back up to the ground floor.

“So far you have done well,” he allowed as the little lordling led them into a cozy parlor.

And they had done well. He was pleased. Well, mostly. The house was only half filled. It looks like he would have to send his snatchers out on more raids soon. And then he would choose another location for a refinery—something better than an orphanage, surely. “You are recording who has successfully sired?”

“We will be, yes, my lord,” Pike affirmed. “Each babe will be affixed with an identification bracelet when it is born, and the father will be notified as well.”

“You have done well,” he told the trio once more. “Continue to do so. Soon I will have more work for you.”

They murmured words of meaningless gratitude, but he’d already dismissed them from his mind. If his plan was to proceed successfully, he would need more fodder. Yes, he would have to contact Cadwallander soon. And then he would find another team to prepare for phase two—the toddlers and primaries. Let someone else deal with the technicalities of it all. After all, that’s what being higher management was about—making the decisions and delegating the work.

****

Neville woke with a start, at first confused why he would have awoken in the seeming middle of the night… but then, all at once, he realized his silent ward alert had been triggered. Harry had had another nightmare.

It had been a much trickier bit of magic to set a ward around the head boy’s bed chamber that would still alert him if the other boy was having a nightmare. Especially since they no longer shared a room. Instead of warding his actual bed, Neville had warded a small potted plant that he had then given to Harry—to help with good dreams, he’d said, so the other boy would have to keep it close to his bed. It only went off if and when Harry left his bed…

Of course, it wasn’t an absolute guarantee that Harry had had a nightmare, but it was a pretty good darn bet. Neville trudged into a heavy cloak and pulled on some heavier socks to protect his legs from the biting wind. It might only be October, but it was still plenty cold in the hills of Scotland. Then he made his way over and up to the Astronomy Tower to prepare.

He had just finished with the localized warming and silencing spells when the door behind him burst open. Harry was a whirlwind of energy, exploding onto the scene…and Neville drank him up, radiating and humming.

Harry ran up to the parapet and screamed, releasing a dark well of anger and anguish into the night sky. Neville waited patiently behind until the other boy collapsed boneless against the stone fixtures. There was a time, when he had first started bringing Harry here and establishing this area as a safe zone, when Neville had feared Harry would one day hurtle himself off over the side of the ramparts. Those days were thankfully past, and he felt reassured that no matter how much Harry might scream and rage into the night, the other boy would not try to end his pain in a purposeful fall.

Neville waited, waited until Harry was panting heavily and curled up on the floor, burying his head under his arms. Ragged and raw, bleeding from invisible wounds.

And then he slid down onto the stone beside him and pulled the smaller teen to him. Harry didn’t resist, slumping against him first and then slowly sliding down to lay in his lap.

Still, he said nothing. He waited, calmly combing through Harry’s dark hair, waited until Harry’s breathing had evened out some. Waited until the first of the warming charms started to weaken before recasting them and waiting some more. He didn’t mind waiting quietly. He didn’t mind these stolen moments in the night when Harry felt safe enough to confide his pain and fear in him.

No, quite the opposite. Neville relished them. No matter what time, how late or early, these were the moments when Harry—strong, proud, noble Harry Potter—turned to him for comfort, depended on him—Neville Longbottom, the long-thought-squib, the ignominious scion of the Longbottom family. Here, he was a disgrace to nobody. Here, he was a trusted friend and confident, an important source of comfort and compassion. Here, he was needy and worthy.

If only it could be more than that, though, he thought wistfully.

“He’s… breeding,” Harry hissed hoarsely, shocking Neville out of his castrating thoughts. “All those prisoners, he has them locked up in a house somewhere, in a big old room full of beds. All those men and women who were being r-raped,” the dark haired boy gasped out. “He plans on harvesting the babies and growing his own army.”

Harry stared up at him hollowly. “Neville, some of those girls, they’re our age… and there are boys there, too. Boys, who are pregnant… but how can a muggle man get pregnant? …and they were definitely males, Neville. Hannah said that they must have been all muggles, because if they were magicals, their magic would have rebelled somehow, but…”

Neville’s gut twisted, and he battled his nerves down, closing his eyes and settling his swirling, excited magic. Here was his chance, his chance to share an important piece of himself with Harry… would he listen? Would he be receptive? He hoped so.

“It’s believed, that long ago, before there were wizards and witches, there were just plain humans and the creatures and spirits that infused the world with magic,” Neville began, licking his lips nervously. “The creatures and spirits weren’t natural to this world; they came here from somewhere else, and they brought magic with them. The humans wanted this magic for themselves, and they sought out to catch and capture the creatures, to try and harness their magic.

“Some were successful, and they learned the secrets of magic. Others, not so much, or rather, not in the manner they had intended,” Neville went on to explain. “You see, the creatures, the magical spirits who walked this world, they were inquisitive and highly intelligent, but they came with their own agenda. Seldom did one get caught who didn’t want to be caught. Some of the creatures, once caught, forced themselves onto their would-be-captors. Others would tease and taunt their hunters until they were caught. But rarely did they ever get caught unless they wanted to be, though, and it’s from these beginnings that magic in humans originated.”

“Luna said…” Harry hedged nervously. “She said that many of the magical families today have some creature blood in them.”

“The truth is more likely that all do,” Neville shared.

“Even you?”

“Even Hermione,” Neville countered. “Somewhere. Well, if you’re to believe the origin of magic came from elsewhere,” he quickly amended.

“And do you?” Harry asked baldly. “Believe, that it is?”

“Well, it makes sense, I think. How else can you really explain why some people have magic and others don’t?”

“So, these creatures bred with humans and created witches and wizards,” Harry summarized. “And you think that’s what Voldemort has done? Found some creatures to breed regular humans with? But that doesn’t explain the men, Nev. Even if it’s possible in the magical world, muggle men just don’t have what it takes to grow a baby without magic.”

“No, but there are some creatures who are powerful enough to impregnate even a muggle man,” Neville shared. “But they’re rare. It’s more likely the snatchers somehow caught some nymphs,” he admitted.

“Wait, but… I thought they were all women?” Harry frowned, struggling to remember his magical creature history.

“Not… exactly.” Neville sighed, absently playing with a little curl of magic along his fingers as he stared up at the starry sky. “Nymphs were—are—nature spirits. Nature is all about life—growing, nurturing, dying, rebirth. Nymphs themselves were… well, they enjoyed the chase, and many times they didn’t mind being caught. And when they were caught, they did what many things in nature are wont to do, right? They reproduced and multiplied. Stands to reason that some of those children were males, right? But that wouldn’t have made them any less, um, inclined than their parents, and so you can have male nymphs. But more importantly,” Neville continued. “You can have male nymphs that can reproduce naturally, without a female. They’re naturally fertile, just like trees and plants—they’re male, but they’re not all male.”

“So, they can what? Germinate,” Harry snorted. “Cross pollinate?”

“Yeah, I suppose you could say,” Neville murmured, blushing slightly.

“And so you think those guys Voldemort has knocked up are some sort of nymph?”

“It’s a theory.”

Harry scrubbed at his face, moaning frustrated. “He plans on sending his snatcher teams out to grab more innocent people.”

“At least he’s keeping them alive…” Neville offered.

“For what, though? Incubators? That’s not alive!”

“It’s better than dead,” Neville countered. “At least this way, there’s a chance, a hope that they might be rescued. No matter how bad it gets, if they’re still alive, there’s hope, right?”

Harry huffed. “I hate it when you throw my words back at me.”

And Neville grinned. “Can’t help it if you say some pretty smart things from time to time.”

They lapsed into another silence, the night sky circling lazily overhead.

“Nev?”

“Mmh?”

“You ever heard of a vanteerian?”

Neville frowned, shifting to look down at the boy sprawled in his lap. “What about it?”

“Luna seems to think I’m one,” Harry shared softly, not looking at him.

Neville’s eyes widened and he froze, heart seizing in his chest. That was… impossible, wasn’t it? He forced himself to swallow and breathe again, his fist clenching around the tiny little vine that was growing around his fingers. “The vanteerian are considered extinct, Harry,” he said deeply, having to clear his throat several times before succeeding. “Supposedly died out a millennium ago. They were the very first of the magical creatures to… to breed with humans, though. Or so the story goes.”

“So you’ve heard of them,” Harry asked, looking up at him. “Tell me?”

Neville sighed, knowing he wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny the other boy, and so he trudged through his memories of hiding in his family’s library and reading the many fairy tales and mythologies his family had managed to collect over the centuries.

“A vanteera,” Neville began haltingly. “They’re beautiful. The most beautiful creature to have ever walked the earth. Beautiful and powerful and deadly.”

“Well, that pretty much rules me out,” Harry snorted.

“They were shape shifters, feline originally, although they learned to morph into other animals, including humans,” Neville continued, rushing on to add, “And they fed off sex.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Apparently, they didn’t need to eat like a regular creature, but they had to have a steady source of intimacy, of which sex was the most satisfying.”

“I don’t get how Luna seems to think I’m one of these things,” Harry groused. “Especially if they’re supposedly extinct!”

Neville frowned. “Did she say why?”

“Does she ever explain herself?” Harry countered, sharing a wry grin with the other boy. Neville nodded knowingly. Luna was incredibly smart—too smart, really. It was practically impossible to know what she was talking about most times.

“Well, the vanteerian were said to be magically powerful,” he suggested.

“I’m not all that powerful,” Harry denied mechanically.

“They have wings and razor sharp claws.”

“Wing-free and clawless,” Harry replied, holding up his hands for proof.

“Um…they can work special magic, like shadow magic and elemental magic?”

“I don’t even know what those are!”

“They have heightened senses, like a werewolf, and can even see magic…?”

Harry didn’t immediately dispute, and Neville looked down at his surprised. “Harry?”

“After my birthday,” Harry started hesitantly. “Things, sort of… changed a bit.”

“Your inheritance began,” Neville responded sagely. “Yeah, mine, too.”

“But, I mean, it wasn’t all… I mean, nothing drastic happened! I didn’t sprout wings or grow claws,” he protested. “I just… I don’t know. I could sort of… see things better,” he bungled through, trying to explain. “I could sense things a little bit more clearly, I guess. And, sometimes, I don’t know, I can… well; sometimes I think I can see things.”

“Like colors, in the air?” Neville suggested.

“Not all the time,” Harry spouted off. “I mean, sometimes I don’t even realize what I’m doing, staring at things others can’t see… I thought it was maybe just something like the thestrals, you know? Some people can see them, some can’t.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, wondering. “Can you make yourself see it?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered miserably.

“Here, try,” Neville suggested, holding out his hand and casually calling forth a bit of magic like he had done earlier. Slowly, a little trickle of his magic came forth and began to weave around his fingers.

Harry sat up, staring transfixed. “What is it?” he breathed.

Smiling, Neville called up a little bit more of his magic, and the tiny potential became concrete, forming a tiny, living vine that curled around his fingers. He held the fingerling out to Harry.

“Neville…is that your…”

“My inheritance,” he confirmed. “Gran wanted me to do the family ritual this summer to bring it forth all at once, but I wouldn’t. It’s not supposed to be forced,” he told the other boy. “Magical Inheritances, they’re supposed to take time, Harry. It’s a process, a natural change in both your body and magic. It’s not just supposed to happen right when you turn seventeen. Poof! Happy birthday, have some extra magic!”

Harry snorted, but Neville continued.

“A true magical inheritance takes more than just twenty-four hours to develop. And all the family rituals out there that rush it, they corrupt it, weaken it and make it less. They essentially are killing their potential, like a gardener who adds too much water or too much fertilizer trying to rush things.” He added more magic, convincing the tiny sprout to grow and curl onto Harry’s hand. “Your date of birth is just a marking place, like the spring, it signals your magic it’s time to grow…”

“This is amazing, Nev. No wonder you’re so good with plants.”

“Mmm, it’s part of my family’s inheritance, although I’m the first in generations to actually inherit.”

“What is it, exactly?”

“Can’t you guess?” Neville grinned, feeling light-hearted and hopeful as he leaned in closer to the other boy. “Nymph,” he whispered before daringly pressing his lips to Harry’s.

 

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter turned in several different directions that I hadn't expected or quite planned for. Sorry for the cliffy. Neville made a move about two weeks too early. Now I need to go back to the notes and figure out how this is going to work. :/ 
> 
> As usual, this is a raw first draft.


	14. The Nymph and the Vanteera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville gets satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit sexual encounters between males and all that might entail, including mentions of mpreg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_-Friday, October 10, 1997, the Astronomy Tower-_

 

~THEN~  

 

“A true magical inheritance takes more than just twenty-four hours to develop. …Your date of birth is just a marking place, like the spring, it signals your magic it’s time to grow…”

 

“This is amazing, Nev. No wonder you’re so good with plants.”

 

“Mmm, it’s part of my family’s inheritance, although I’m the first in generations to actually inherit.”

 

“What is it, exactly?”

 

“Can’t you guess?” Neville grinned, feeling light-hearted and hopeful as he leaned in closer to the other boy. “Nymph,” he whispered before daringly pressing his lips to Harry’s.

 

 

~NOW~

 

 

It wasn’t sweet, Neville was too nervous that this would be his only chance and everything within him was pounding erratically, demanding.  He thought he could understand now how his ancestors had felt, confronted with a creature as exquisite as Harry, a vanteera—and Neville had little doubt in Luna’s prognostication.  It explained so much; Neville’s overwhelming need to be with the other boy, the pounding, insistent desire that had engulfed him ever since returning to school this September.

 

More instinctively than consciously, Neville called on his natural magic to assist him in his seduction.

 

Harry’s lips parted beneath his, and he didn’t wait to discover if it was in protest or invitation before sucking the other boy’s bottom lip between his teeth.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me this last month?” he practically growled.

 

“Nev—what?” Harry panted.

 

The taller boy groaned, burying his face into Harry’s neck, nuzzling at his throat, from which a low, rumbling purr began to emit.  “You don’t even know, do you?”

 

“Know what?” Harry asked, hands clenching in the thick material of Neville’s robe while he fought for control of his magic and body, which were vibrating with excitement, responding readily, eagerly to the other boy.  A lot like it had with Luna, he realized suddenly.

 

Neville pulled back, struggling to calm his racing heart. Harry hadn’t pushed him away. This was good. This was… potential.  “You know how you said you felt like there were more people watching you this year?”

 

“Yeah, we discussed that,” Harry acknowledge, licking his lips nervously, not sure where exactly this was going or what it had to do with Neville kissing him. “Said it was because I was head boy this year; of course more people would be watching me, waiting for me to screw up.”

 

“Yes. No,” Neville corrected, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to refocus. He needed to stay focused for this bit. Couldn’t let his magical nature have free rein. Not yet.  “No, it’s not just that. You were right. There are more people watching you this year, and yes, it’s partially because your head boy.”

 

“But not completely.”

 

“No, not completely,” Neville agreed.  “You said, Luna told you, the purebloods are taught, about our family inheritances—what to expect, what not to expect, the possibilities. Most of the pureblooded families are all interrelated, some way, to some degree. So we know, we’re taught,” he struggled to explain.  “Mostly through family gossip and stories. We know, we learn, but it’s never supposed to be written down just anywhere, so you can’t just look it up somewhere, can you?”

 

“I don’t—“

 

“They’ve been watching you, Harry, to see if you would inherit,” Neville stated plainly. “Most of the traditional purebloods detest muggles so much because they see them as weakening the magical blood lines. Pure muggles, after all, have no magic, no creature blood in them. But it’s not true. If anything, I think it seems to strengthen the creature blood.”

 

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Doesn’t it?” he countered. “Look at us. Really look at us, Harry, at our classmates.  Who are magically the strongest among us? You? Hermione? Hell, even Dean’s more powerful than Seamus or Ron—both who are as pureblooded as you get these days. And you all have recent muggle blood.”

 

“But—“

 

“But if you believe that magic originally comes from a magical being’s inheritance, and all purebloods have these magical creatures’ blood swimming through our veins… then wouldn’t it stand to reason that some of our inheritances are actually… canceling out our potential magic?”

 

In his head, Harry could hear Aunt Marge’s voice: “If there’s something wrong with the bitch, then there will be something wrong with the pup.”

 

“Just look at the two people who are considered the strongest wizards alive: Dumbledore and V-Voldemort,” Neville pressed on.

 

“Voldemort’s father was a muggle,” Harry confessed.

 

“And Dumbledore’s mother was a muggleborn,” Neville shared, nodded. 

 

“So…what?” Harry asked, miserably.

 

“So… Luna says you’ve inherited your family’s creature magic,” Neville finished. “You’re coming into your inheritance as a vanteera…and it’s driving me absolutely barmy.”

 

“Wait, so the other purebloods all know I’m becoming a vanteera?” he asked exasperatedly.  Why did everyone seem to know more about him than he did?

 

“No, not a vanteera,” Neville corrected. “Like I said, they’re thought to be extinct now.  But the Potters were suspected of having fae or faun in their line, possibly even incubus according to some rumors, and the Blacks are well known to carry different variations of fae and veela, specifically keres.”

 

“How come you know all this?” Harry demanded.

 

“I told you, we learn it as kids.”

 

“So, even Ron--?”

 

“Nymphs, imps, and fae,” Neville replied readily. “All throughout the Weasley and Prewitt lines. But, you’ll notice,, he didn’t have any special family inheritance last year.”

 

“Yeah? Neither did Hermione.”

 

Neville shook his head. “You didn’t notice her spells getting stronger? Faster? Better? Or the way the torches and fires seemed to grow in her presence all last winter? I would be willing to bet money that if she did an inheritance test, you’d find elementals in her blood line.”

 

Harry sat back, stunned. “You’re for real,” he breathed.

 

“Luna doesn’t lie, Harry, you know that, and neither do I. If she says you’re coming into a vanteerian inheritance, you are.”  He leaned forward again, cupping Harry’s cheeks to force the other boy to look at him directly, and this time it was a sweet kiss, a gentle pressing of lips against lips. 

 

It lasted barely a minute before Neville was opening his mouth and licking at Harry’s lips, asking for entrance. Entrance which was readily granted; he dove in, caressing and enticing, encouraging Harry to reciprocate.  It was good--it was very good--but it wasn’t enough. Breathless, panting, Neville tore his mouth free and buried his face back against Harry’s throat, nuzzling.

 

“All month long, Harry,” he moaned. “You’ve been driving me crazy. Can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t focus without thinking about you anymore! And it’s only getting worse!”

 

“I wasn’t—it wasn’t—I’m not doing anything!” Harry sputtered, hands burrowing into Neville’s silky hair and clenching.

 

“But you are,” Neville amended. “Even if you didn’t know it, even if it was unintentional, you’ve been steadily driving me crazy for the last month. It’s your scent, the taste and smell of your magic. It’s been steadily pouring off of you since you got back, Harry, and it keeps getting stronger. It’s your magic, calling out for mates.”

 

“Like, like pheromones?” Harry gasped.

 

“Mmm.” Neville couldn’t resist, now that he was so close, and he started licking and sucking along Harry’s neck. And now he was the one crawling into Harry’s lap, trying to get that much closer. “You’re building a pard, aren’t you?”

 

“A—a what?” Harry moaned, nearly completed distracted by the sensations racing through his body. Gods, but it was brilliant, and he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to resist the temptation to do more.

 

“Pard, circle, family,” Neville susurrated, tugging at Harry’s robe, trying to reach more skin underneath. “I want in, if you’ll have me. I can help; I can be an asset to you.”

 

“Need to think—“

 

“Thinking’s overrated,” Neville growled, pushing Harry back onto the floor. Harry’s grip on him didn’t slacked, and Neville ended up following him down, squirming and wiggling atop him. “Please, please, Harry, please. Fuck me, suck me, please, I don’t care. I just—I can’t take anymore, dammit! You’re driving me crazy.”

 

Harry growled and rolled Neville over, cupping his hand over the thick groin swelling between Neville’s legs.  “I’ve never fucked a guy before.”

 

“Don’t care, don’t care, I just—please, Harry,” Neville grunted and groaned, spreading his thighs wide and arching against him.

 

Harry kissed him again but didn’t do more else than continue rubbing against him, almost teasing the other boy. “If we do this, then what?” he wanted to know.  “Are you going to be like Hermione and Hannah and Luna? Promising to have my kids?”

 

Neville’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned.  “I knew it. Knew you must have been building a pard. Hermione, Luna, and Hannah Abbott?” he asked rhetorically. “But it won’t be enough.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Death eaters aren’t the only ones who need to breed, Harry,” Neville didn’t hesitate to respond. “You and me? We’re the last of our family. And we’re not the only ones. The whole wizarding world is dying.  I’m expected to sire at least two children for the Longbottom family, but if that’s what you want from me, yes,” Neville answered. “I’ll gladly have your children.”

 

Neville reached up and pulled Harry’s face down to within easy reach, leveraging up to meet his lips with his own and kissing him enthusiastically.  “Now, will you accept me?”

 

Harry growled, pushing Neville back fully onto the floor. The kiss was fierce, a clash of teeth and tongue punctuated by a symphony of moans and groans.  Clothing skewed; hands were insistent wanderers, grabbing and squeezing and constantly on the move.  And still, it wasn’t enough.

 

With a force of herculean strength, Neville pushed back at Harry, encouraging him to roll over and allow him free.  He smiled, flushed and radiant, down at Harry before flicking the head boy’s robes and pants out of the way and crouching low over his groin.  With an obscene moan, Neville swallowed his cock, sucking the length straight down to his throat, choking but determined.

 

Harry shouted, body jackknifing as his hands clenched in Neville’s hair, holding the other down on his cock, thrusting and fucking into his mouth with abandon. Neville held onto his hips with enough pressure that Harry would find small bruise marks tomorrow, but tonight, all he currently cared about was the hot, wet suction surrounding his cock, the convulsing muscles of Neville’s throat squeezing around his cock head, and the vibrations of moans rising up and engulfing him.

 

With a final shout, Harry came, body freezing as the spasms of release rushed through him, until finally… he slumped back onto freezing stone floor, limp. Neville nuzzled up into him, rubbing his face and chin over his privates before laying a gentle little kiss atop the sleeping penis and tucking it safely back inside Harry’s pants.

 

“Bloody hell, Nev,” Harry panted. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

 

Neville smiled up at him and crawled his way up Harry’s chest. “It was all right, then?”

 

“Bloody brilliant, it was.”

 

“Mm, good. I liked it, too. Wouldn’t get too comfortable, though. We’re not finished.”

 

“Uh,”

 

“Not if you accept me,” Neville pressed on, looking at him worriedly now. “You do accept me, don’t you, Harry? Into your pard?”

 

“I—what’s a—you said that before,” Harry sidestepped. “A pard. What is it?”

 

“I told you. It’s a vanteera’s family circle or unit.  A vanteera is a shape shifter, but one of its true forms is a cat, a big predator. That’s why their family grouping is called a pard. The vanteerian themselves were more like angels, though, like I said—beautiful and powerful and amazing. There’s always an alpha pair. The vanteera and its chosen first mate. That’s Hermione, right?”

 

“I don’t—I mean, that is to say… I guess so, yes?”

 

Neville nodded. “Then it doesn’t matter what order the rest of us come in.”

 

“The rest?” Harry asked shallowly. “How many, uh, mates, does a vanteera normally have?”

 

“No one knows, do they? Some books like to say that the Vanteera only has one mate, the alpha mate, but I’ve read several other stories where that didn’t make sense. Vanteerians lived in large groups, and I think they were…well, very friendly with everyone, let’s say.”

 

“How do you know this?” Harry demanded.  “Hermione’s been reading the books Luna gave her all week, and hasn’t been able to tell me as much. And you said that the families didn’t write about these things.”

 

Neville shrugged. “Somewhere along the lines, the Longbottoms, or someone who married into the family must have had ties to the vanteerian, I think. There were a lot of old story books in my library, and when I was little, I liked reading them.  I—I thought it would be pretty great if I grew up to be one, you know. All powerful and beautiful and revered… Wasn’t to be, huh?”

 

“Neville…”

 

The other boy shrugged. “It’s all right. Really. I’m quite happy with what magic’s given me.”  He curled into the smaller teen, settling in comfortably.

 

“A bit of better now?” Harry asked after another few minutes had passed.

 

“A bit,” Neville agreed, smiling contentedly.  

 

“You know we’re going to have to talk to Hermione and the others about this.”

 

And pop went his little bubble of contentedness.

 

 

**** 

 

Neville hadn’t wanted to leave the astronomy tower, but Harry had pointed out it was actually very early in the morning, and freezing to boot. Dawn would be coming soon enough, and it would be great if he could get a few more hours of sleep before then.  Neville, however, had stalled and hemmed and hawed until Harry finally invited the other boy back to his quarters.  Neville had been eager to leave then.

 

Back inside his much warmer and comfortable bedchambers, Harry had looked on bemusedly as Neville shucked his robes and crawled into Harry’s bed in nothing more than his pants. 

 

“You know, it’s strange,” he commented nonchalantly.  “When I did this with Hermione and Hannah, and even a bit with Luna, I was, like, some crazy beast. But with you I’m not. I still feel like… me. Like I’m in control and can say no at any time.”

 

“You’re getting stronger,” Neville nodded sagely. “Becoming more controlled. You’re magic’s not so desperately seeking mates now that you’ve got several. It’s appeased, if not exactly content, yet. And it probably helps that you’re not starving anymore.”

 

“What do you mean it’s appeased?” Harry frowned, crossing his arms and continuing to watch as Neville got all cozy in his bed.

 

“Vanteerians are social, sensual creatures, Harry,” Neville told him patiently.

 

“Yeah, I got that.”

 

“They feed off of sex, intimacy. I bet your creature was just about starving when you got back to Hogwarts. I know you don’t talk about it much at all, but we all know things aren’t good for you at home with your relatives. And you really haven’t been eating a whole lot at meals, cause you don’t need to eat regular food anymore.”

 

“Because I’m a vanteera.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But what if I’m not?” Harry protested, still not completely convinced. Not that he didn’t believe Luna, but he did. Mostly. It was just… this was so unbelievable! Especially when he wasn’t sprouting wings or fur or claws like everyone seemed to think these creatures had.

 

“Then I would guess you’d probably inherited your dad’s family magic and were an incubus.  They feed off sex, too.”

 

“Great!” he groused, whirling away from the sight on the bed. “So I really am going to go around raping unsuspecting students.”

 

“What? No!” Neville protested, leaning up in the bed. “What would make you think that?”

 

“You just said I was an incubus that feds off sex!”

 

“I said I would’ve guessed so, if you weren’t a vanteera, but even then, incubi don’t necessarily rape—you can’t rape the willing, yeah? And incubi, they feel more satisfied if they sleep with a willing bed partner, and with their innate magic that naturally lowers a person’s inhibitions…well, they don’t lack for bed partners, right? But, even then, you’re not an incubus.”

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

“Other than Luna having told you you’re a vanteera, you mean?” Neville scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pulled his hands free from the blankets, lifted a bit of white cloth before flinging it across the room in the general direction of his robe.  “Because an incubus would never have made me beg them to fuck me, and an incubus wouldn’t still be standing there fully dressed when I’m sitting very naked in his bed,” he taunted.

 

Harry swallowed.  “You’re serious about this, then? I mean, you want me to…?”

 

“To fuck me? Claim me? Mate me and breed me?” Neville supplied.  “I’ve never been more sure about anything else in my life, Harry.”

 

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and he groaned.  “I’ll be able to control it?” he grounded out.  “It won’t be all…all emotions and instincts and hazy, will it?”

 

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Neville reassured him.  “If you’ve really fed the girls already, I think it’s safe to say you’re not starving anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still feed.”

 

“Why Neville?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Why are you doing this? Why do you want this? Me?”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” the sandy haired young man asked, sitting up and allowing the blankets to fall into his lap.  “I’m in love with you. Have been for years. Would’ve done just about anything to have you notice me when we were younger.”

 

“I noticed you,” Harry whispered dryly.

 

“But you didn’t want me.”

 

“I was a kid, Nev. Shy and scared and confused. I didn’t know what I wanted other than to be safe and liked.”

 

“I liked you,” Neville insisted. “I would’ve kept you safe.”

 

“No one can keep me safe, Neville. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

 

“We can try,” he vowed. “Me and the girls, we’ll do our best to keep you and our family safe…if you’ll let us.”

 

“And if you get hurt?”

 

“Then we’ll take care of each other and help each other heal.”

 

Harry huffed, turning away to glare at the door. “I’m scared of this. Of what’s happening to me. Of what I’m doing.”

 

“You don’t have to be. I promise. Your magic won’t let you pick anyone who wouldn’t be right for us.”

 

Harry whirled back around and fixed Neville with a dirty look. “And you think you’re right?”

 

“You brought me back to your rooms, Harry.  You invited me here.” Neville smiled at him confidently. “You haven’t pushed me away…and you’re not going to.  Even if you don’t fuck me tonight, you will eventually.”

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

“You already gifted me with your seed once tonight,” Neville mused, laying back and allowing the covers to fall down to his thighs, fully exposing his body to Harry’s hungry gaze.  His penis lay full along his hip, curving up around his small belly. His hand rubbed soothingly over his tummy, as if to remind Harry that it was full of his cum which he’d partaken of not even an hour ago. He spread his legs invitingly, reaching a second hand down to pull his scrotum out of the line of sight, tilting his hips just enough so Harry could see the winking puckered flesh of his arsehole if he but looked.

 

And he looked, his breath catching as he watched Neville play a bit with his ball sack, rolling them around in his hand before reaching lower and rubbing a finger along that enticing, forbidden space.  Harry licked his lips, breath coming faster as he watched.

 

“Got anything to make this easier?” Neville asked, watching as Harry watched him, feeling emboldened and powerful. He moaned, eyes fluttering, pressing a finger against his hole, barely resisting another smile when he thought he heard Harry make a little noise.

 

“In the night stand.”

 

“Get it for me?” he asked, waiting, waiting, trying to be patient…

 

He heard the slide of wood before he felt the bed dip, just a little, and he looked up to see Harry, one knee on the bed, holding out a little blue jar, eyes still transfixed on his arse, and this time, he didn’t resist grinning. “Open it?” he requested, waiting for the other boy to do so before scooping up a dollop and pressing his finger back to his opening.  He didn’t even pause, pushing his finger straight into his body, allowing the glop of cream to smooth over his inner walls.  It wouldn’t be enough, he knew. Not for how he wanted the night to end, but it was certainly enough to get Harry fully onto the bed with him.

 

“More?” he entreated, hooking a hand around one thigh to pull his leg further out of the way, giving Harry a better view at what he was offering. 

 

With a little chuffing noise, Harry scooped up some of the cream onto his own fingers and pressed them against where Neville’s hand was shoved into his own body. 

 

“Yes, please,” he entreated, writhing just a bit on his own hand. And then he cried out, splitting open as Harry pressed two more fingers into his bumhole at once. It was more than he had expected, but less that what he could take and he wiggled and squirmed, inviting those fingers to explore him.

 

“You stretch open,” Harry mused. “Almost like a girl.”

 

“Not a girl,” Neville gasped. 

 

“No, you’re not,” Harry agreed, reaching out and grasping Neville’s cock with his other hand, squeezing and tugging and causing Neville to shout.  “You really want this, don’t you?” he asked somewhat bemusedly.

 

“You mean do I really want you to shove your cock up my ass and fuck me?” Neville panted. “Yeah, I really do.”

 

Harry snorted.  “Will it hurt?”

 

“I’m good for it, Harry, promise,” Neville insisted, reaching down and gathering up another scoop of cream to shove inside against Harry’s fingers.  “Feel how slick you’re making me?  You’ll slide right in and fill me up good, Harry. Promise.”

 

“I’ve only had sex with the girls before.”

 

“That’s okay.  It’s not all that different,” the other boy panted, relaxing against the pillows.  “You get naked, and then you take your cock and put it up against my hole.  Then you put it in. Simple, right?”

 

Harry laughed again. “Yeah, simple. So, we’ll do this.”

 

“Gods, please,” Neville groaned, sitting up to hurriedly help Harry undress.  “Do you care if I’m face up?” he asked almost shyly. “I kind of like the idea of being able to watch as you fuck me.”

 

It was Harry’s turn to groan. “No, yeah, that’s fine. Shit, Nev… I’m so hard again.”

 

“Good, it’ll make you fucking me easier! Now, come on.”

 

It took a bit of maneuvering, but finally, Harry was kneeled up under Neville, with one of the boy’s legs hooked over his upper arm while Harry held the other out of the way. And then he was sinking into Neville’s body, pushing through that tiny sphincter and completely impaling the other boy.

 

A litany of curses and pleas fell from Neville’s lips, and Harry shivered as he seemed to soak them all up.  It was so hot… so tight… so good. And there was Neville, begging him for more. Harry was more than willing to comply, chasing after the ultimate high that accompanied orgasm with wild abandon.  

 

One month, only one month ago he’d been a virgin, and already he couldn’t imagine his life without this heady rush he got from fucking, feeling someone moan and writhe and beg beneath him… Feeling their body relax and give for him, mold to him, so pliant and yet demanding at the same time. It was amazing.

 

Beneath him Neville howled, using his legs hooked over Harry’s arms to leverage up and fuck himself deeper onto Harry’s cock, and Harry groaned.

 

“Gods, right there, Harry. Right… there…. Please!”

 

Gods help him, he tried, with seemingly limited success.  He continued to hold Neville’s legs up as his hips ground against the other boy’s, rooting to get deeper, as if that were possible, with his balls already smashed up against Neville’s tight rump, and Neville’s balls and dick crushed between their rubbing bellies.  Sweat slicked up their skin, making their grip slip and slide over each other. 

 

“Fuck, Harry! Come on, come in me,” he panted, throwing his head back. “Fill me up!”

 

“You want it?” Harry growled. “You want me to fill you up, maybe even knock you up right here?”

 

Neville groaned, thrashing his head back and forth against the pillow. “Yes! Yes! Fuck me!  Fill me! Come in me, Harry! Please, come in me!”

 

With a shout, he complied, releasing his seed to Neville for the second time that night before collapsing atop him. Beneath him, Neville hummed, holding him close and humping against his stomach. “So good, Harry,” he purred, nuzzling against his temple before sighing. “If only you could knock me up right now.”

 

“Hmm?” Harry mumbled, trying to rouse the energy to respond more coherently.

 

“Even for a nymph, we need to be in season,” Neville mused, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair and down his back, smearing the quickly drying beads of sweat. “And vanteerians, too, I think. But that’s okay. We’ve got time.”

 

Harry mumbled unintelligently, and Neville smiled, closing his eyes and relaxing back, content once again.

 

  


 

What’s to come?

*sleeping/waking

*confronting Hermione

*meeting with the girls.

*what do they know/suspect about Vanteerians

*Death Eater raids

*planning Samhain rituals

*flashbacks to summer

*meeting with Dumbledore

*A Hogsmeade weekend

.

.

.

.

Not necessarily in that order.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mid-winter break is over. ~_~ Gone are the lazy days of cuddling with my computer from dawn till long past dusk... Which means, unless I get some major mojo inspiration, it might not be till April when I get some quality writing time in. 
> 
> As always, this story is an active WIP. Questions, comments, concerns, and constructive criticism are welcome.


	15. A Meeting of Pard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and the girls find out about Neville.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized today that some updates are better than no updates, and since life has been a bit hectic and I haven't been writing much at all, I decided to post what I do have instead of waiting for a more decent length. Sorry it's short.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_-Saturday, October 11, 1997, the Head Suite-_

 

~THEN~  

 

Beneath him, Neville hummed, holding him close and humping against his stomach. “So good, Harry,” he purred, nuzzling against his temple before sighing. “If only you could knock me up right now.”

 

“Hmm?” Harry mumbled, trying to rouse the energy to respond more coherently.

 

“Even for a nymph, we need to be in season,” Neville mused, combing his fingers through Harry’s hair and down his back, smearing the quickly drying beads of sweat. “And vanteerians, too, I think. But that’s okay. We’ve got time.”

 

Harry mumbled unintelligently, and Neville smiled, closing his eyes and relaxing back, content once again.

 

 

~NOW~

 

Maturing through her adolescent years with two boys as her best friends may have skewed Hermione’s sense of decorum some, it was true.  Whatever the case, she had never held much ceremony upon entering the boys’ dormitories before and that certainly had not changed any this year now that it was her best friend-cum-lover who occupied the head boy’s suite.  Such was the blasé mindset that saw the head girl entering Harry’s bedchambers with barely a habitual customary knock as she breezed through.

 

Only for her words of greeting to die unspoken on her lips.

 

The two figures on the bed merely shifted in their sleep, slight acknowledgement that was more likely due to the cooler air that had entered the room with her than her own presence.  It wasn’t even that Harry wasn’t alone in his bed that surprised her so.  No, if anything, Hannah’s panache for sleeping over in the head boy’s room had made her quite acquainted with finding Harry accompanied, and she herself had even taken a turn or two at cuddling up to the head boy.  

 

It wasn’t always sexual, either, she knew. Not for herself or for Hannah, or now, Luna.  Sometimes it was just nice to sleep with another person, and it was a fact all of them had observed that Harry definitely slept better when he wasn’t left alone.

 

No, it wasn’t the fact that Harry wasn’t alone in bed that stunned her so badly this morning.  It was the fact of who he was in bed with… the fact that it wasn’t Hannah or Luna, but someone else entirely. 

 

It had been a bit of an adjustment when it had been her and Harry and… this situation they were in.  And then it was her and Hannah and Harry…  And she thought she’d handled it well, she really did, adjusting to the idea that Harry was intimate with both her and another girl…

 

But then there was Luna.  Luna who was….well, Luna. 

 

And the three girls had talked about things, with and without Harry in the room.  They were pulling together what facts they could about the situation they were finding themselves in.  And intellectually, Hermione thought she knew and was prepared for the idea that Harry would possibly find more…’mates’… potential mates. Other girlfriends and lovers.

 

The girls were…bonding, in their own right. Adjusting.  Admittedly, Hannah and Luna seemed to be adjusting quite easily to the concept of being one girlfriend out of many, but… Hermione thought she was handling things fairly well, very well, indeed.

 

But this…

 

This just popped the cauldron right off of the fire!

 

Never had she honestly expected to find Harry in bed with… with another… with someone who wasn’t a ‘she’!  Not that she had anything against…it… but… what the hell, her frazzled mind sputtered while she continued to stare dumbfounded at the two boys entwined on the bed.  And from the rumpled sheets, it was more than evident that it was not a platonic arrangement.

 

And it was Neville.

 

Neville Longbottom.  And Harry.  In bed.  Very obviously naked, in bed, together.

 

How the hell did that happen? her mind sent out again.

 

Sweet, dear, kind-hearted Neville Longbottom.  Who was actually quite muscular underneath all those jumpers he wore, she noted distractedly.  She hadn’t even thought about Neville being like that—had thought the boy had liked Ginny or…huh?

 

“What. The. Hell?” she finally vocalized, feeling almost scandalous for cursing, but, really! Some situations really did call for it.

 

The boys on the bed twitched some more, obviously starting to wake up.

 

“Mione? What time is it?” Harry mumbled.

 

“Almost time for breakfast,” she answered dazedly.

 

“Mm, alright. Getting up. Soon.”

 

“Suppose I should be getting going,” Neville rumbled sleepily. “Need to get some fresh robes before heading down.”

 

“Borrow one of mine,” Harry protested, not willing to move off his living pillow.

 

Neville snorted. “Thanks, Harry, but you’re a bit short for me.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“It’s true. And a lengthening charm will just ruin the cloth. Might be good for a quick fix, but a bit unnecessarily when I can just go back to my own room and get my own clothes, don’t you think?”

 

“Uh, guys? Excuse me,” Hermione cut in, “But will one of you tell me what’s happened?”

 

Neville smiled, almost beatifically.  “Harry’s accepted me into the pard,” he answered almost at the same time as Harry.

 

“Neville knows about vanteerians and me and us.”

 

“But, I mean,” the head girl sputtered.  “I thought you liked girls!”  She finally exclaimed before blushing fiercely.

 

“It’s not like that, Hermione,” Neville countered, shifting up to sit up in the bed despite Harry’s protests. “I mean, it is—I like girls—“

 

“You do?”

 

“I do,” he told the smaller teen now frowning up at him before looking back at Hermione. “I just like Harry more. Is that really so bad? I mean me, being with you guys? I know I’m not all that great at a lot of things, but I’ve improved a lot the last year, and I can still get better...”

 

“Neville, it’s not that,” Hermione sputtered. “You’re a great person, and a good wizard, and you’re outstanding at Herbology. You are a great person, Neville. I just—I just wasn’t expecting… this. It’s a bit much to take in, don’t you think? I mean, Hannah and I were just starting to figure things out when Luna showed up, and now here you are, not even a week later—“

 

“Well, actually, Luna approached us on a Tuesday, so—“

 

“Shut up, Harry. I’m not mad, Neville, not at you,” she rushed on, seeing the hesitance and withdrawal of the other boy at her sharp tone. “No, I’m not really angry with you, either, Harry. I’m just really confused. I…I need to think on this,” she said, moving to leave the room.

 

“Thinking’s overrated.”

 

“Says the boy who leaps before he looks,” she retorted, shooting a wry look at Harry. “I’m going to head down to breakfast. I suggest you two also get a move on. We’re supposed to meet up with the DA in a few hours for calisthenics, and no, Neville. Sex does not substitute for exercise. Hannah already tried that suggestion. I’ll see you both later. After I’ve had a chance to think about this,” she added before quickly disappearing back out the door, closing it behind her.

 

“Don’t worry, Nev,” Harry reassured, sitting up in bed as well. “She’ll be fine.”

 

“I know. I told you—your magic wouldn’t have accepted me if I couldn’t be a good fit,” Neville said whimsically.  “But I just don’t like it when Hermione’s mad at me.”

 

“She’s not mad at you—you heard her. She’s not mad at me, either. This is all just a bit of a change for her, is all. She just needs time to adjust. You’ll see. By lunch time, she’ll have come around.”

 

“You sure about that?”

 

“Positive. Now come on,” Harry ordered, climbing out of bed. “Let’s go get some breakfast. And maybe we should find Hannah and Luna, too.”

 

 

*****

 

Harry showered and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast while Neville headed back up to Gryffindor tower for his own shower and change of clothes.  He was mildly disappointed that the other boy hadn’t taken him up on his offer to shower together—knowing from experience with the girls that showering together was a lot of fun—but he was even more disappointed to realize Hermione wasn’t at the Gryffindor table. Nor was she at any of the other tables. 

 

He shot a look over for Hannah or Luna as he made his way towards his normal seat, but the other girls weren’t there yet, either.  They still hadn’t shown up a little later when Neville finally arrived, sliding onto the bench beside him.

 

“The girls already eat?”

 

“Haven’t seen them.” Harry frowned. “Think maybe Hermione already grabbed them?”

 

“I suppose it’s possible,” Neville allowed.  “If we don’t see them before the DA meeting, we’ll just have to talk to them afterwards, right?”

 

“I suppose,” Harry mumbled, not really happy with the idea. But that’s what ended up being the case. Luna arrived ahead of Hermione and Hannah at the DA meeting, fluttering in on a wave of dreamy smiles before settling in to a series of stretches. Hermione, on the other hand, steadfastly refused to look in either his or Neville’s direction, seriously causing Harry to reconsider his earlier proclamation of Hermione being over it by lunch time.  As if to make up for her friend and sister’s complete avoidance, Hannah couldn’t seem to stop staring at the two boys, which wasn’t at all reassuring, either.

 

It wasn’t until later that afternoon, after Harry had made a bit of a production of asking Neville over to his private quarters, loud enough for the girls to overhear, that Hermione looked at him.

 

“That’s a good idea,” she told him.  “I’m just going to go shower off in the prefect’s bath and then I’ll meet up with you? There were some questions I wanted to ask Neville, too.”

 

“Good idea,” Hannah chirped. “I’ll join you. The prefect baths are so much nicer than the dormitory’s.”

 

Harry watched her leave, somewhat dejectedly, until Neville shoulder bumped him.  “Come on, mate. Ron’s already run off to shower so he can meet up with Lavender, and well, if you still wanted to try for that shower, well, I’m game if you are,” he offered with forced bravado.

 

He managed to coax a crooked little smile to his face. “Yeah, all right. I’m game,” he agreed, leading Neville out and back to the heads’ chambers.

 

Less than an hour later both boys were sitting out in the common room, rosy and glowing and relaxed, waiting for the girls to arrive.  Hannah strolled in first, tossing her boneless self down beside Harry on the sofa, throwing her legs into his lap and leaning back against Neville.

 

“So, you two shagged, huh? How was it?”

 

“Hannah!” Hermione gasped, coming in behind Luna and firmly shutting the door.

 

“What? It’s not like we weren’t all wondering.”

 

“I’m more interested in the anal sex,” Luna added. “Did it hurt?”

 

“What? Uh, that’s to say—“ Harry shot a desperate and embarrassed look over at Neville. The other boy hadn’t said anything about it hurting, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t. And really, when you think about it… He winced.

 

Coloring brightly, but well used to both Hannah’s and Luna’s forthrightness and bluntness, Neville struggled to answer as truthfully as possible.  “It can hurt, I mean, if you’re not careful. But it can be really, really good, too.”

 

“I’m betting it was really, really good,” Hannah quipped, shooting an amused look back at Luna. “Just from experience.”

 

“Oh, you’ve had anal sex?” Luna asked intrigued.  “I thought you said—“

 

“Not yet,” Hannah agreed. “But I’m young, and curious, and look, girls! Now we’ve got two boys to play with?”

 

Luna giggled, but Hermione looked mostly overwhelmed and unsure.  “Hermione, come and sit down,” Luna entreated, patting the space beside her on the love seat.  “We talked about this.”

 

“Nothing too serious,” Hannah reassured the boys.  “Hermione, of course, wasn’t raised with pureblooded customs like the rest of us—our cute Headboy excepted, of course—so Luna and I have been trying to get her caught up on some things. We’ve had the other girls helping a bit, too.”

 

“Is that where you three have been disappearing to some nights?” Harry asked.

 

“I told you it was study groups,” Hannah replied.

 

“Just not for your standard Hogwarts academics,” Luna added.

 

“Although it should be,” the head girl groused. “How are muggle borns and muggle raised supposed to know about our world if no one bothers to teach them?”

 

“Which is why we’re pushing forward with the etiquette club,” Hannah reminded her calmly.

 

“And it’s part of the mentorship, too,” Harry added, instinctively beginning to pet and rub the legs in his lap. “The more we can get people talking, the more we’ll learn naturally from each other.”

 

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “It’s just frustrating. I mean, I never really understood just how prevalent magical being and creature inheritances were.”

 

“It’s not at all guaranteed,” Neville told her. “Just because we all have the blood, doesn’t mean it will show. Especially if it’s too mixed up.”

 

“Yeah. Neville has a theory that you’d probably be interested in, Hermione,” Harry told her. “You, too, Luna.”

 

“I know,” the blonde responded. “We’ve talked before, and I agree.  It’s evident enough in our classmates.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Hermione demanded mildly.

 

Luna looked at her for a moment, head tilted, before she turned back to the boys.  “Neville, you inherited your family’s magic.”

 

“Yes,” he replied, nodded, even though it hadn’t been a question. “The first in a while, actually. I think it’s because my mum was a half-blood.”

 

“Ooh, you had an inheritance,” Hannah asked breathlessly. “Something good?”

 

He manifested a small lily bloom and held it out to her. “Decent.” 

 

She grinned and plucked the flower from his fingers, sniffing it delicately before tucking it into her hair with a grin.

 

“And Harry’s inherited his family’s magic,” Luna continued. “And so have I.”

 

“Neville thinks Hermione got an inheritance, too,” Harry said before looking down at the girl half in his lap. “Hannah, did you get a creature inheritance?”  

 

“Now you ask me after almost a month of boinking?” the blonde girl snorted.

 

“Did you just say—“ Neville sputtered.

 

“‘Boinking?” Harry finished.

 

“Boys,” she huffed. “It’s not like it’s any worse than calling it shagging, is it?”

 

“Sounds a mite more respectable though to say you were off shagging than off boinking, don’t you think?” Neville asked.

 

“No, not really,” Hannah replied before turning back to Harry. “Any way, no, Harry, to answer your questions. I did not get a creature inheritance on my 17th birthday. I’m just a plain old witch, thank you very much. I’ll leave all the special bits to you all, shall I?”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem,” she answered, stretching. “But this will work out nicely.”

 

“Come again?” Hermione asked.

 

“Don’t you see? Now we can all hang out together and no one will become too suspicious.”

 

“Suspicious about what?” Harry frowned, wondering just how much the rest of the school was aware of his little problem.

 

“Harry, how do you think it might have looked to some of our classmates when I started hanging out here a whole lot suddenly last month?” Hannah asked him seriously.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“They thought she had a crush on you and was using Hermione to try and get closer to you,” Neville supplied.

 

“What? No!”

 

“Yes, actually. And when Luna started hanging around a bit more than before, you can bet the rumor mongrels had something to say about it.”

 

“They did,” Neville agreed.

 

“The popular theory is that we’re having wild orgies,” Luna hummed.

 

“Not yet, but hopefully.”

 

“Hannah.”

 

“What? Like you wouldn’t enjoy it,” the blonde shot back at Hermione. “But back to my point.”

 

“You had one?” Hermione muttered.  


“Yes. With Neville here, we can set it up to look like I was coming to you for help getting together with Neville—and it worked. Now we can all hang out together just like we were double dating.”

 

“That might work for you and Neville, but how’s that going to help Luna?” Harry asked.

 

Hannah shrugged. “Luna’s Luna. She gets a pass just for being herself.”  She thought for a moment, looking between Neville and Harry before offering, “Unless there’s another guy out there who you’re interested in? Maybe a 6th year like her? I know a couple of Hufflepuffs who wouldn’t mind a chance—“

 

“No, just no. Stop,” Harry cut her off, shaking his head.

 

“There’s Colin Creevy. He’s grown up some.”

 

“Not helping, Neville.”

 

The other boy looked horribly innocent, despite the glare the head boy was shooting his way. “Wasn’t I? Oh, my bad.”

 

“Are you sure you’re a nymph and not an imp?” Harry groused.

 

“Pretty sure, yes. But the two are somewhat related. Distant cousins, I think.”

 

“You can stop now.”

 

“It does make you wonder though,” Luna mused.

 

“What does?” Hermione sighed, rubbing at her temple.  


“Well, I mean, Harry has a girl from Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor each. We just need a Slytherin to complete the set.”

 

“Who said anything about a set?” Harry balked.

 

“And now you have a Gryffindor boy, too. Will you be adding more boys?” Hannah asked.  


“Why do I have to add any one?” Harry practically whined.  “And I would just like to say I don’t like this word “add”—it implies I have some sort of choice in all this. I didn’t. I wouldn’t have chosen to do that to you or Hermione. Not like that.”

 

Hannah nudged him forcibly with a foot.  “I thought we already talked about this, Harry. It wasn’t rape. You didn’t force us. We didn’t say no. We weren’t drugged. It might not have been the way we would have chosen for our first times, but neither Hermione nor I regret that it was you. Not then and not now, and not the many times in between. You are not forcing us to be with you, we are choosing to do so, and so help me, if you don’t stop bringing this up, I will hit you,” she promised venomnently.

 

“I told you, Harry,” Neville sighed. “The reason you were probably so out of control before was because you were starving. Didn’t you say you were at it all weekend that first weekend we were back? You and Hermione, right? And I bet you didn’t really do anything again until you were with Hannah.”

 

“Yeah, no, I agree,” Hannah nodded before pausing to think and frown. “So you think that’s why he went a little gung-ho with me? Because he was hungry again? Yeah, I’m a slab of mutton. Lovely.”

 

“Yes. No. Hannah!” Neville growled tweaking the girl’s arm. “Yes, he was probably hungry again, but you’ll notice he didn’t find just any random girl—”

 

“No, he found me.”

 

“In an easy to find spot?” Neville questioned.

 

“Well no.”  Hannah frowned in thought.  “I was down one of the lower corridors. Out of the way because, well, I was upset and I didn’t want anyone to find me.”

 

“But he found you,” Neville pointed out before continuing to make his point.  “His magic sought you out, Hannah. You. Not some other girl. Not some random girl.”

 

“Auh, now I feel kind of special. Thanks Harry. Thanks Neville.”

 

“You are special,” Harry insisted.

 

“Yes, you are, but that’s not my point,” Neville pressed.  


Hannah huffed again. “Well, then what is?”

 

“Harry, since you and Hannah-“

 

“Boinked?” she inserted helpfully, grinning unrepentantly at the look Neville shot her.

 

“Shagged,” he continued forcibly.  “Have you, you know, continued to be intimate with the girls?”

 

“Well, yes,” the head boy admitted.

 

“Definitely,” Hannah confirmed.

 

“And so, then Luna comes along, and she wants in, but you’re not starving so, you don’t just jump her right then and there. You’re able to wait and plan. You told me it was different with her,” Neville pointed out.

 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to do it,” Harry reminded him. “I mean, I went there to tell her no, but then, well, things just sort of happened.”

 

“Oops. She just fell on your dick.”

 

“Hannah,” Hermione sighed.

 

“What? It’s funny. Come on.”

 

“Anyway,” Neville continued more determined to finish, “Now you have three people feeding you up intimately, you should be able to control your hungers.”

 

“But you still think there will be more. That my—what did you call it? A pard?—will be bigger?” Harry sighed.  “What’s wrong with just the five of us?”

 

“Fives a good number, but it’s not great,” Luna mused. “Seven’s better, but so is nine and thirteen—seven plus five plus one.

 

“I don’t want thirteen lovers! Heck! Four of you are more than I ever would’ve thought in a lifetime, let alone all at once.”

 

“Family circle, Harry,” Neville reminded him. “It’ll be as large as your magic and creature demand.”

 

“Well, it better not be greedy!”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out I will have company over spring break...so I won't actually have time to write like I did over mid-winter break. :/


	16. Full Moon Mating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Voldemort, a little bit of the pard, a whole lot of Harry and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings on this story exist for a reason. This chapter hits on several of them. May contain triggers for some, squeamishness for others.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

~THEN~ 

Springbrook House was to become the keystone to one of his grandest, most ambitious plans.  
The plan had gestated more than a year ago. His beloved Nagini was brooding… So many homes left empty, family lines dying out… The wizarding world was dying. And that could not be allowed to happen.  
If his plan was to proceed successfully, he would need more fodder. Yes, he would have to contact Cadwallander soon. And then he would find another team to prepare for phase two—the toddlers and primaries. Let someone else deal with the technicalities of it all. After all, that’s what being higher management was about—making the decisions and delegating the work.  
3 

~NOW~  
-October 1997, Madorna Hall- 

 

He was not a greedy man. No, indeed. He was merely a wizard of refined tastes. One who demanded and deserved the best, he thought as he surveyed the fruits of tonight’s harvest. He’d sent serval parties out across the country with the direction to not come back empty handed. His loyal death eaters had not disobeyed him. They wouldn’t have dared. 

Still. 

Still, he found himself dissatisfied with the selection offered before him. One or two, perhaps, had some possibilities… but no. Neither was truly good enough, worthy enough, to benefit from his attentions. 

He waved the two teenagers off, knowing they would be sent to one of the houses, if they weren’t picked up by one of his elite first. Speaking of… 

Yaxley was next to step forward, depositing with a flick of his wand, five bodies. Always the achiever, Yaxley, he thought darkly, looking over the newest offerings. Of course, only three were really viable for his purposes—a middle-aged woman and two young adults, one male, one female. The two smaller captives were barely more than babes. He sincerely doubted they’d even started primary yet. 

“The elder is their mother, I take it.” 

“Proof of her ability,” Yaxley nodded. “If it pleases you.” 

“They’re a bit young to send to the houses, don’t you think, Yaxley,” he purred, quite sure he knew what his knight wanted. 

“They’re not too young to be taught their proper place, my lord. I could handle their training myself.” 

“Yes, you would like that, wouldn’t Yaxley? Tell me, Yaxley, how many of our guests are currently occupying the third floor thanks to your efforts?” Of course he already knew the answer, having read over the updated report sent over earlier this day. 

One of his oldest followers, Yaxley looked up with, dare he say it, a hint, just a tremor, of nervousness. Yaxley was always fairly good at hiding his fear around him, but not good enough. “My lord?” the death eater responded. 

“I’ll allow you to take the two home with you, but in return, you have one month to successfully breed the mother,” he instructed, amused by the sour face the other man made. “Take them away, and see to it the other two are sent to the houses.” 

Yaxley retreated, and another death eater stepped forward to take his place, presenting his goods for the evening. And so it went, nearly two dozen times over. Most were successful enough to bring back more than a duo of offerings. Some were ambitious enough to tackle a full handful. No one was unwise enough to bring any forward to might conceivably be too weathered and worn for their needs. And only Yaxley had been so bold as to offer up such unripened bounty. 

He sighed. None of the selection had truly tempted him. Time was running out if he wanted to enact the chosen ritual by November 1st. Not that he didn’t have alternatives, of course. He was nothing if not resourceful. Plans within plans, contingencies within contingencies. All with his end goal in mind. 

His houses were only one part of the larger plan, albeit, an important and successful part. 

His houses were finally repopulated, but for how long? There was still plenty of spaces to be filled at Springbrook. By Imbolc the first of his new minions would have arrived. Already he had sent Smethwyck and Pike along to begin work on a second facility, this one for the children to be reared in. By the time they were finished, the babes would be ready for their new home, and he could send the pair on to prepare another breeding home. In a decade’s time, he will have succeeded in doubling the wizarding population of Brittan… and they would all be loyal to him. 

*****   
~Thursday after classes, October 16th, head suite~

It seemed Hannah was right. 

With Neville now hanging around more with Harry and the girls, and Hannah hanging off of Neville’s arm, many of the gossip mongrels took to the ready explanation that Hannah had approached the head boy and girl to better get access to the other seventh year Gryffindor as opposed to getting at the head boy—who everyone agreed was obviously together with their head girl, even if the two would neither confirm or deny it. 

Of course, the more risqué of the Hogwarts’ gossipers insisted that the five students were up to deviant sexual acts behind the closed doors of the head suite. 

If only. 

The blond Hufflepuff was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire place, head pillowed on her arms as she listened and somewhat participated in the conversation going on between the two heads. Hermione was curled up in her chair with her notebooks spread around her like a defensive barrier. Neville and Luna were curled up on the couch together, all comfy and cuddly. Harry alternated between pacing the room as he thought aloud and flinging himself onto the sofa next to Neville and Luna. 

“So the staff approved our request to hold a full Samhain festival, complete with ritual,” Harry was telling them. 

“Really? That’s brilliant,” Hermione responded, reaching for one of her many notebooks. “So we’ll bring that up at the prefect meeting Saturday.” 

“Definitely. I want to go all out and really celebrate,” Harry confirmed. “Do you still have the original list we made up?” 

Hermione shot him a dirty look. “And the two revised lists. We should also draw additional suggestions.” 

“And delegate again,” he added, grinning. 

“And delegate,” she agreed. “I’m really impressed with the job Ernie did in gathering all those games. I never realized how many muggle games had their origins in wizarding games.” 

“Not everything crosses over,” Hannah said, “But there’s always been some blending. Can’t be helped, what with muggle-borns and all, I mean, can it?” 

“True. So I’ll make sure to draw up a list of who will be in charge of setting what up then?” Hermione announced before suggesting, “Maybe we should also set up a supervision schedule, so that way we all get to participate some and no one’s left in charge of something for the whole time?” 

“Great idea, yeah,” Harry agreed. “We know we’re going to do the bonfire.” 

“That’s after the feast, though,” Hermione reminded him before reading over their list. 

“We planned on starting the day with some outside activities—Hagrid has agreed to lead a nature walk through parts of the forest, and we wanted to ask both him and Sprout to help with the making of some fall wreaths and table settings. The house elves will help us set up a pumpkin carving station—of course, it would be more authentic if we could use turnips, but Hagrid has all those lovely pumpkins for us to use. There were the pickup games of quidditch, and didn’t you suggest some friendly races, too? We were going to set up an altar outside the Great Hall for honoring our dead. Inside the hall, we were going to have some candy making stations set up at the different tables after lunch—make our own apples and chocolates and things after lunch. I think we should be able to get a couple of molds and even make some candy houses, or maybe Professor Flitwick will teach us some charms? After dinner we’ll lite the bonfire—we can even throw in some of our dinner bones. We’ll hold the ritual for our dead—do you think Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore would be willing to represent the crone and her consort for us? It’s not too impolite to ask, is it? I suppose we could ask Madame Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick… or maybe Professor Sprout…? Anyway, after the ritual, we will set up several different areas for divination practice. The older Divination students should be able to run a few different tricks—I’m sure Professor Trawlawny would love to go on about who’s going to die this year, and other such mayhem, but we should probably leave it to the students to practice at.” 

“It all sounds grand,” Hannah murmured. “Way better than just the feast we always do every year. It’s nice to think that we’ll be honoring our families all together instead of privately.” 

“It’s still a celebration,” Harry added, “But it’s also a serious time, too.” 

“It’s lovely,” Luna agreed. “And we can even ask the thestrals to join us. Maybe we could even take some short rides on the thestrals. Do you think Hagrid would be okay with that?” 

“He’d probably love the idea,” Neville snorted. 

“I don’t know which is worse—thestrels or hippogriffs,” Hermione muttered. 

“Really?” Neville asked surprised. “I would have thought thestrals, because you couldn’t see them, could you?” 

“No, you’re right. That was terribly disconcerting. But then, they at least flew mostly evenly. Buckbeak was rocking so much, I always felt like he was trying to buck me off.”

“You just don’t like flying,” Harry accused. “I need to take you up flying with me sometime on my broom.”

“No thank you. That’s quite all right. I’ll pass. It’s scary enough just watching you fly that thing, let alone being up there with you.” 

“I wouldn’t let you fall, Hermione, you know that.” 

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to be off the good, solid ground any time soon, thank you very much.” 

“Well, it sounds like you have everything you need in order for the prefect meeting,” Hannah said, sitting up. “Shall we move on?” 

“Move on? To what?” Harry asked, confused. 

“Have you noticed anymore urgings to any other people?” she asked bluntly “We all agreed that it was unlikely that it would remain just the five of us—“

“You all agreed,” Harry staunchly pointed out. “I didn’t agree to nothing.” 

“Seven is the next most powerful number, which means there’s the potential for two new additions into the pard. I like that name, pard, it’s different,” Hannah continued, climbing up and joining Neville and Luna on the sofa.

“It is a derivative from the leopard that all vanterians turn into,” Luna told her.

“Just leopards?” Hermione asked. “I thought they could transform into other large cats.” 

“Maybe. I’m not sure,” Luna admitted, humming a bit in thought. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

“You haven’t felt any inclination to try and transform, have you?” Neville asked Harry.

“Or maybe chase a ball of yarn?” Hannah put in. 

“Ha, ha. No. I haven’t.”

“Well, the pard is the family unit. It consists of the alpha pair, which I think we can all agree is Harry and Hermione, and then the other members,” Neville reminded them. “There’s no timeline for when or how many other members will join.” 

“And just why can we all agree that I’m the alpha?” Hermione scoffed. 

“You mean, besides the fact that he chose you first?” Neville asked wryly. 

“Get over it, Hermione. It’s obvious, even if you don’t see it yourself,” Hannah huffed, snuggling into Neville’s lap.

“What’s obvious?” 

“Harry’s protective of all of us, but more so you,” Hannah pointed out. “He doesn’t mind us girls hanging around together, or even Luna and I hanging off of Neville, but do you ever notice that you and Neville never cuddle? It’s been a week, and he and I and even Luna have done more together, but you always hold back.” 

“Well excuse me if I’m not exactly comfortable with the idea of multiple partners being intimate with each other all at once.” 

“It’s more than that, though, isn’t it?” Neville asked. “I mean, you didn’t mind too much knowing Harry and I are intimate, at least once you got over the shock, or even that Luna and I or Hannah and I or even Harry and the others are all still intimate… You accept that.” 

“It’s a little hard not to.” 

“But you don’t seek it out for yourself, even knowing we’d be willing and accepting.” 

Beside him on the couch, Harry stiffened. 

“And I haven’t sought you out, either,” Neville rushed on to say. “Not because I don’t like you, but because it’s not my place. I wouldn’t dare approach you, and I wouldn’t even attempt to without Harry’s express permission and or inclusion.” 

“Excuse me?” Hermione balked. 

Neville nodded towards where Harry sat stiff beside him. “Hannah and I could start getting hot and heavy right here, and Harry wouldn’t stop us. Hell, he might even join us—“

“One can always hope,” Hannah purred, nuzzling into Neville’s chest and shooting a hopeful look towards Harry, who wasn’t looking at anyone else save Hermione.” 

“But if you were to step forward, he would stop it,” Neville continued, unfazed by the promiscuous girl in his lap. He’d known Hannah Abbott for years, and in the last week he’d gotten to know her better. Much better, he thought, running a hand down her side and to her hip. 

“Not that it will be an issue very much longer,” Luna announced, startling everyone. 

“What do you mean?” Harry practically growled at her. 

Luna smiled back at him before turning towards Neville and Hannah. “Shall we go down to dinner?” 

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Harry was… antsy. There was no other word for it. 

He’d gone down to dinner with the others, but nothing seemed appetizing to him, and he ended up playing more with the food that was on his plate than eating it. Hermione had high-tailed it to the library directly after the evening meal, while Hannah and Luna agreed to head back to the Room of Requirement for some more study groups and peer tutorials. Even Ron was using the peer tutorials tonight, in effort to get the Transfiguration theories they were supposed to write about in their essay due tomorrow. Luckily he’d already finished up his Transfiguration essay and even got started on his DADA and Charms homework before dinner. He’d helped anyone else who was there in need—mostly some firsties and second years with their Transfiguration, a couple of third and fourth years with DADA, some more third years with Muggle Studies, and even some struggling fifth years with Potions. 

But Harry was too antsy to stick around the Room very much longer tonight. He felt… itchy, jittery, and stretched. He considered going for a fly—for all of five seconds before dismissing the idea. It was annoying in the extreme. He wanted… something. He just didn’t know what. He’d tried reading, strolling, even going for a jog. Nothing had helped. He couldn’t even sit still long enough to pen a letter to Remus—he’d tried. 

When Hermione returned to their suites less than half an hour later, he greeted her with gratitude and pleasure. 

“Of all the—“ the head girl groused, storming into the room and dumping her bag and books on the study table with force and throwing the balcony doors open to let in the brisk night breeze. “Those two second year Hufflepuffs!” she exploded. 

“The ones who seemed to be following in the twins’ footsteps?” Harry questioned, following her out onto the balcony. 

“Yes! Dungbombs,” Hermione spat. “Right outside the library! Stinks to high heavens, and you know that stench. It permeates everything! I couldn’t stand to stay another minute. It was nauseating.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not as sorry as they are, I tell you that! Madame Pince had them in hand before I left,” Hermione huffed, swiping her hair away from her face. Brown eyes narrowed, and she studied him as he continued to hover in the doorway to the balcony. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” she continued, approaching him. “You didn’t really eat a thing at dinner tonight—don’t think I haven’t noticed—and you’ve been right twitchy all day.” 

He reached out and pulled her to him, luxuriating in the way she came easily and melted against him, the very action feeling like a balm against his jittery nerves. He buried his face against her hair, inhaling her scent, and nuzzling down to her throat. 

She hummed, rubbing her hands up and down his back, soaking in the warmth he radiated. “Did you need me to look over your Transfiguration paper one more time?” 

“No,” he mumbled against her skin, his arms banding tighter around her, pulling her closer, as if he could pull her into himself…or better yet, his mind supplied, if he could meld into her. He brushed his lips against the smooth skin of her throat and one hand slid up off her back and onto her neck, gripping and massaging the tense muscles bundled there. 

Hermione moaned, and Harry grinned, dropping his other hand to the gentle swell of her bum and caressing. Her fingers tensed and dug into the skin on his back. “It’s a good thing I finished my arithmacy work then,” she breathed, her body naturally undulating against his. 

“Yes,” he agreed with a hiss, his own finger digging into the soft flesh of bum and squeezing. “Want you.” 

Hermione swallowed another moan, both amazed and slightly bemused by how quickly Harry seemed able to arouse her body. “Good thing I want you, too,” she managed after a try or two. 

Harry growled—literally growled—and it chased shivers along her spine as he yanked her out into the open night air of the balcony. It was a lovely set balcony, overlooking a good bit of the lake and the Forbidden Forest. Decently sized with enough room to set up a telescope or bring out a chair to read on sunnier days. And tonight, it was flooded with silvery light from the full moon just beginning to peek over the tree tops of the forest. 

Hermione was sure neither one of them had used a wand, but suddenly, their clothes were vanished. The chilly night air startled a gasp from Hermione as her skin prickled with goose flesh. Another gasp as Harry shoved her up against the stone of the parapet, bent over so far that her head and shoulders hung over the sides. A yelp as she scrambled at the stone for purchase before she could fall. And then Harry was pressing up against her again. His heat warming her chilled flesh as his hands grasped her waist and pulled her back onto him. 

There was barely any need for readjustment as Harry’s penis slid smoothly against her, and then inside her, pressing just right, and she melted into the easy rhythm. They’d engaged in sexual activities a number of times now—not every day, but enough for her to agree with what her mother had once told her: it got easier and better the more times you did it. 

Easier and much, much better, Hermione thought, shifting and canting her hips back just right so that on the next thrust forward, Harry slid even deeper, skin smacking as he grunted, filling her. And it was good, it was oh so good.

Her hands scraped against the stone in an effort to keep herself from face planting and kissing the parapet, and Harry’s hands were griping her hips with an almost punishing force—sure enough to leave marks and bruises for tomorrow. But that was all right, too, because it was still good. 

And then it was more than good. 

It was hot, and Hermione began to notice an uncomfortable burning and ache. 

And then it wasn’t so good anymore, not good at all, and she screamed. 

*** 

Harry wasn’t exactly sure where and when it all changed—from a pleasurable, hard shagging into something darker, more primal. He could feel the magic, swirling around them like always whenever he had sex with one of the pard—and like always, it was just that little bit stronger, just that little bit wilder, whenever it was Hermione he was with. 

He could feel the pressure, like a physical weight, pushing against his insides, struggling to push outside of his skin.   
And then it spilt past his skin, and everything changed. 

Harry felt it happening—an eternity stretching him from one moment to the next—and he was helpless to stop it. He felt the change, pressing on his skin, on his muscles, on his being—and he was helpless to stop. 

Soft, black fur spilled over his stretched skin in a viscous ripple of magic. His bones ached, his innards ached, and he knew the magic wasn’t finished with him yet. 

Beneath him, Hermione was warm and soft and glowing in the moonlight as he continued to move in and out of her. A part of him screamed that she was his—his to use, his to fuck, his to mate, his to breed—and he felt himself swelling inside her, larger than he believed humanly possible, filling her deeper than ever. He knew she realized something had changed, something was wrong, when her moans turn into groans. 

He thought to go slower, to try and stop, but whatever was happening to him, it refused to relinquish control. He screamed, a piercing cry renting the night air, as a tingling, shooting pain in his penis flared, a prelude to the pained and frightened screams tearing from Hermione’s throat. 

He couldn’t withdraw from her body now, even if he wanted to. They were joined. His scream of triumph joins hers in the night air even as another internal part of him shouted at him that she was his to protect, and now he’s hurting her. But it wass muffled by the chant of ‘she is mine. She is mine,’ echoed in the repeated humping of his hips against hers. 

Lightning pain seared through his pelvis and down his penis, accompanied by a sharper scream from Hermione, and then he’s coming, filling her womb with his seed. A moment later, another scream rent the air, once again his own, as his back ripped away and two large, heavy, wings sprung forth. Amongst the sea of pain and pleasure, Harry’s teeth ached, and his face cramped, and before he had another thought, he was biting down on Hermione’s exposed shoulder, brutally piercing her delicate skin with sharp canines. Coppery blood spilled into his mouth as his seed continued to pump forcibly into her womb, filling her. 

Shock reduced Hermione into a quivering, moaning mass, and Harry cuddled her gently against him, caressing her belly and breasts as he purred with satisfaction of a successful mating. They were still joined intimately, and would be for some time he instinctively knew, his cock locked inside her by tiny barbs that would pull and tear if he were to try and leave her before the mating was complete. But that was all right; he has no intention of leaving her. 

And then the warm bubble of contentment burst. He wasn’t sure what exactly alerted him at first, but Harry’s head turned sharply, green eyes flashing like a cat’s in the dark, and he hissed a warning to the would-be intruders to stay back. Automatically, instinctually, his arms tightened around Hermione, and his wings folded forward to hide her from sight as he continued to glare at the four beings in the doorway, barred from entry by his own magic, although when the wards had gone up, he had no idea.   
Peripherally, he recognized them, knew them, and he knew they were not a real threat to him or his mate, but still lost in the throes of the mating, he mistrusts all. Two males, two females, two possible mates, two too old to mate, none who belong here now. He growled another warning—stay back, go away, you may not come near my mate!

 

*** 

Headmaster Dumbledore was alerted to a significant magical disturbance by one of the wards shortly before curfew. It was happenstance that had him running into Professors McGonagall and Snape on his way to investigate. Neither professor was in an agreeable mood—Minerva having come from the library and dung bomb fiasco and Severus having rousted a pair of amorous sixth years from a dungeon classroom, and both dead set on sharing their grievousness with him. Since he had no intention of stopping to chat, the two professors saw fit to follow after him with their litany of complaints, and thus, shortly, they found themselves outside the entryway to the Heads Suite. 

He knocked politely, for propriety’s sake, of course, and then when the door went unanswered, allowed himself in. 

“Albus, what—“ sputtered his Deputy Headmistress seconds before the amorous scene of the two disrobed students on the balcony was made clear. 

“The wards alerted me to a strong disturbance,” he explained calmly, contemplating the benefits of attempting to alert the two students to their company or retreating and having them summoned to him the next day. 

“Potter! Granger!” Severus barked sharply, to no reply. He attempted to shoot two stinging hexes at the indecent couple, but the spells failed to connect.

“Mr. Potter,” Minerva began, storming into the room in high dungeon, only to smack into an invisible ward and come up short ten feet from the balcony entrance. 

Sneering in disgust, Severus raised his wand and again attempted to hex the two teens, only for his spells to fizzle upon contact with the same ward that had stop Minerva. 

She turned to the headmaster. “Do something!” 

It was then that the girl on the balcony began screaming in pain. 

“Albus!” Minerva shouted. “You must do something!” 

“By all means,” Severus sneered at her even as he continued to watch the scene before him in fascinated horror, watching as the young head-boy began to transform before them and suspicions began to fall into place. “If you have no care to live beyond tonight.” 

“I’m afraid, Minerva, he is right,” Dumbledore told her painfully. “At this moment, there is nothing we can do.” 

“But Albus!” she sputtered in protest. “Surely--! He’s hurting her! We can’t just stand here and allow this—“

“And how precisely do you expect us to stop them?” Severus demanded of her. “Our spells cannot penetrate his shield to stun him, and if we were to try and stop him without first stunning him, he would surely turn on us and likely kill us! Look at him!” 

“We must wait,” Dumbledore agreed. 

“He’s killing her!” 

“If what we suspect is true,” Dumbledore cautioned, “and Harry is indeed a Vanteeria, then all our information lends belief that his chosen mate will survive the act.” 

At that moment a second scream rent through the night air, causing each of the three professors to start, staring back at the two on the balcony. Black leather-furred wings had burst free of Potter’s back, spraying globs of flesh and blood across the balcony, and were splayed wide. They pumped the air, wrenching cries of pain from Potter before he buried his mouth against the girl’s shoulder, biting harshly. 

“That’s—” Severus started, and then swallowed, unable to continue as he stared at the male form on the balcony. It was humanoid, but no longer human. No, in fact, it looked more feline, and if that was true, then…

“Certainly convincing evidence,” the headmaster murmured. 

“Dear gods,” Minerva whimpered, clutching her hands. “Albus, we must—“ 

Hermione screamed once more and then subsided into a quivering, whimpering mess as Harry stopped thrusting against her and held her to him instead. One could almost say he cuddled her if they had not seen the aggression in the previous act. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said calmly from behind them, dragging their attention away from the pair on the balcony, to the young woman standing inside the open doorway holding a tray. 

“Hermione, at least, will be embarrassed to know there were witnesses to such an intimate act,” Luna continued, heading to the study table to relieve herself of the tray she’d asked the house elves to help prepare for her friends. “She doesn’t like people watching her. Harry, too, will be annoyed once he remembers himself. But before then, he’ll only be antagonistic to anyone he views as a threat. There, see,” she concluded, nodding past them. 

They whipped around at the hiss that emerged from Potter, and grimaced. 

“If you really want to talk to them, you’d be best waiting till tomorrow,” Luna continued, withdrawing several potions vials and laying them out carefully next to the tray. 

“Miss Lovegood, you seem strangely unperturbed by these events,” Minerva observed. 

Luna blinked at her. 

“What can you tell us,” Dumbledore interceded before Severus could snap at the girl, “about what’s happening between Mr. Potter and Miss Granger.” 

“I thought everyone was familiar with the mating habits of Vanteeria. I’ll admit, I was confused at first, too. After all, it’s widely known that everyone knows a Vanteeria has only one mate, so I wrote Daddy, and he was able to send me some more reference material that was really very helpful. Did you know, Professor, that ‘Vanteeria’ is actually the genus name for several species of feline humanoid beings. From what I’ve been able to gather, I suspect Harry belongs to the Vanteerian Rex species.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Severus growled. 

“No, nor had I. It was quite illuminating,” Luna concurred. “If you would like, I’d be happy to lend you the tome in which I found the information. After Hermione is finished with it, of course. Speaking of which, I really do think it would be in everyone’s best interests if we left now. Harry and Hermione will be tied up together for as long as up to an hour, and I think they would both feel more comfortable if they were able to retreat to their bed.” 

“‘Tied up?’” Minerva repeated weakly, wondering just what had happened to her students. 

“Well, not literally,” Luna mused. “After all, Harry is feline, not canine. Still, it will most likely take a good half hour before the barbs are reabsorbed and the penile spine retracts.” 

Minerva wavered, but Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “And you are sure they will both be quite well for this evening?” 

“Of course.” She turned to study the potions master, and Severus found himself looking away. Not that that was much better as he found himself locking gazes with Potter, the green eyes burning into him, to the very innards of him he thought fancifully, and he shivered uncontrollably. 

“Even you and I should leave, Professor,” Luna added softly, waiting for him near the doorway where Dumbledore had already escorted out a weakly protesting Minerva. “This is not our time.” 

Severus glared at the annoying little chit before gathering himself and whisking away from the room. A good, strong cup of tea with a little splash of cognac was in order, he thought. He paused on the other side, turning back to ensure the Lovegood girl left the Heads’ Suite as well, sending her another special glare when she smiled sweetly at him, snicking the door shut and then skipping away down the hall. 

*** 

Harry continued to glare as the four finally left, the blonde last with a smile and nod to him before closing the door behind her. He felt his magic expand out until it encased the entirety of the Heads’ Suite, and then he turned back to the young woman in his arms, nuzzling and caressing her for several more minutes. When he felt she was truly pliant against him, he carefully shifted her weight against him, and relocated them into his bed chambers. He had to be extra careful when laying down as the barbs along his shaft would tug and potential tear delicate flesh. 

Luna’s estimations were correct, and nearly half an hour later, Harry felt the tingling that signaled his magic reabsorbing the barbs and penile spine, allowing his penis to soften and slip free from Hermione’s vagina in a wash of blood and semen. She murmured a protest, shifting gently back against him, and he continued to cuddle and soothe her, nuzzling her neck and throat while running his hands along her tantalizing skin. He slid one hand down, cupping her sex, his fingers playing in the soupy mess as his magic gushed forth, sealing up the tiny wounds caused by the coupling. 

Hermione moaned sleepily as the warm magic spread through her—like submerging in a warm, relaxing bath, only this warmed her from the inside out, titillating and stimulating her body. A hot tongue rasped along her shoulder, hands and fingers continued to dance across her skin, roving from breasts to belly in a soothing rhythm that thrummed and thumped her insides. 

Wait. That was the bed thumping, she realized with no little puzzlement. She pulled away, despite her body’s protests, and turned around, eyes widening in disbelief. 

They had been discussing Luna’s theory of Harry’s inheritance problem as a possibility, but Hermione would be the first to admit, she hadn’t thought it truly possible. But there before her was the proof—fur, wings, tail, and all!

“Harry, you’re… Oh, my,” she finally ended, reaching out to cup his soft, furry cheek, half bemused as he nuzzled into it. It was still Harry, although slightly different. Besides the obvious differences—fur, wings, and tail!!!—he still looked like Harry. More muscular, maybe; a few adjustments in the face, sure. But… “I’m really going to have to read that book of Luna’s,” she mused, reaching up to run her hand through his hair—still human hair, not fur. 

He buried his face against her shoulder, and this time she could feel the magic humming between them. 

“Mine,” he voiced, brushing his lips over the mark he’d made earlier, the visible sign of their mating, the mark of claiming, the mark that pronounced to all and any that she was his Mate. “Mine to love, mine to cherish, mine to protect, mine to mate. Mine,” he repeated. 

The magic was pushing against her, trying to jump down her throat and choke her, she thought, until she was finally able to utter, “Yours.” And then the magic washed over her, into her, gentling and fulfilling. 

He pushed her back into the soft cushion of the mattress and covered her with his own body, nuzzling and licking and kissing where he went. And he went everyway. Behind him, his tail lashed about, lazily whipping through the air in contentment. This was the gentle coupling, the calm love-making of two mates. The frenzied heat of claiming was over now, and he could take his time to truly appreciate the scent and texture and taste of his mate, of his Hermione. 

Hermione moaned wantonly as Harry's tongue rasped against her clitoris, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. She arched off the cool sheets, her body on fire with need. A need that seemed would be a long time in being fulfilled as Harry continued to feast upon her. His tongue slipped inside her body, lapping up the metallic bittersweet mixture of cum and blood. He was at it for what seemed like to Hermione endless ages before he crawled back up her body and slid smoothly inside her again, filling her with the evidence of his own need. 

She cried, sweet tears, clinging to him as Harry moved in and out of her body in gentle waves of passion and love. His lips ghosted over her face, licking away the trace of her tears before locking against hers. Their tongues battled, slip sliding against the other's until she submitted, relaxing back into the bedding and willingly receiving everything he could give to her, everything he would share with her. And in that moment, he gave her everything he had.

 

****** 

 

Still to come…  
*flashbacks to summer   
*meeting with Dumbledore  
*A Hogsmeade weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I honestly do not anticipate another update for a while. I have several busy weeks ahead that I need to make it through before I can breathe again, not to mention my headaches and pain levels have been getting worse. I am not abandoning the story, however.


	17. TGIF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning after, a chat with the headmaster, and a romp with the pard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

~THEN~  
“If you really want to talk to them, you’d be best waiting till tomorrow,” Luna continued, withdrawing several potions vials and laying them out carefully next to the tray.  
“Miss Lovegood, you seem strangely unperturbed by these events,” Minerva observed.  
Luna blinked at her.  
“What can you tell us,” Dumbledore interceded before Severus could snap at the girl, “about what’s happening between Mr. Potter and Miss Granger.”  
“I thought everyone was familiar with the mating habits of Vanteeria.”

 

~NOW~  
-Friday, 17 October, early morning, Hogwarts Head Suite -

Consciousness was hard fought for, and even as she made the valiant attempt, Hermione struggled to remember why she was bothering. There was a deep rooted ache that transpired throughout her body, a throbbing that longed to soothe her back into slumber. A silky caress of soft, fuzzy warmth—like a pair of your favorite woolen pajamas—cradled her as her mind continued to drag and claw itself into the waking world.

Already, waking thoughts were beginning to flitter across the front of her mind. Random thoughts such as what time was it? Was it time to get up? What day was it? Did she have classes today? Couldn’t she sleep in for just a little bit longer? Was it Saturday yet? No, Friday. Would they have blueberries on the table this morning? Thirsty. It would be nice to have some Squash, but pumpkin juice was all right.

Her stomach cramped painfully, and she grimaced, sleepily grumbling over the joys of being a girl. Behind her there was an answering grumbling as her soft, fuzzy blanket tightened around her. The deep, throaty purr was the final push to rocket her into full blown awareness.

Hermione blinked rapidly, mind furiously at work organizing all the random thoughts and sensations registering, quickly filtering in her memories from the night before. Yes, it was Friday, but it was still dark out. Yes, she was in bed with someone, and that someone was Harry. Yes, her body was aching, and for very good read, but no, that deep, throaty purr was not a normal human sound.

Sheer force of will and determination prevented her from lapsing into hyperventilating, but it was shaky control at best. Carefully, she inched herself closer to the end of the bed—delicately, hyper aware of not only the raw tenderness of her own bruised body, but also acutely aware of the other being in the bed with her.

It was Harry. She knew it was Harry. But…

Finally, once she had provided herself with those precious scant inches of space, she could resist temptation no more, and she allowed herself to look back at her sleeping partner fully.

It was Harry. But it wasn’t.

At first, her mind blanked, as if refusing to process what she was seeing, but she had been in the wizarding world long enough now to be able to press past this moment of disbelief, of impossible, of utterly fantastical, and analyze what was evident before her. It was rather a sight, and as more and more of the reality of it sunk in, she found herself trembling and suddenly overwhelmed.

Here, finally, was the proof, the last piece, as it was, and neither she nor Harry would be able to deny it any longer. The large, black humanoid feline with wings still sleeping in the bed was impossible to refute. As she watched, the one wing which had been draped over her fluttered and drew in closer to the warm main body to which it was attached. Harry’s face—slightly misshaped to allow for the more feline features but still recognizably Harry—scrunched as if in annoyance or discomfort before nuzzling back into the pillow. A hand reached out for the space Hermione had just vacated—a paw? What did one call a thickened hand covered in fur with thick claws emerging from the nail beds? And… and, yes, it was, he did, that was most assuredly a tail. A long, sleek, black tail curled in amongst the rumpled sheets.

A nervous bubble of laughter escaped as she slid out of the bed and slowly backed away, not taking her eyes away from the sleeping form.

This was… this was… she didn’t know what this was. She couldn’t think. She didn’t know.

A rhythmic thumping from the bed and low rumbling purr—a deeper and louder sound than she had ever her Crookshanks make—originated from the bed and arrested her momentum. A languorous stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn preceded one penetrating green eye slitting open, piercing her where she’d froze in retreat.

“Hermione,” he grumbled, and his voice did little to stop her trembling, caused an aching clenching in her belly. “Come back to bed.”

“Oh, I—I really think I should—“

“Sleep now. Think later,” he growled, stretched and rubbing against the bedsheets, causing them to pull and shift dangerously for what remained of his modesty. Although, it didn’t look like this Harry cared very much for any modesty in this moment. He sat up, a deep growl rumbling warningly in his throat, when she tried to take another step further from the bed. “Come back to bed.”

“I was just going—“

“Bed.”

That final demand was enough to finally solidify her spine as she straightened and firmed herself. “Now, listen here,” she began angrily, but this Harry-creature was having none of her protests.

In a movement she barely registered, he was off the bed and in front of her, sliding his nude body against hers. He tugged her arms forward and slipped behind her, surrounding her as he basically frog-marched her back to the bed. “Rest,” he purred against her throat, nuzzling at her ear and neck.

“What—what if I need to use the facilities?” she asked breathlessly, resisting that final push onto the mattress.

A large paw-hand pressed against her ribcage, made her swallow a panicked sob—never had she felt so small or… or frail. It smoothed down her stomach, over her fleshy belly, before dipping lower to cup her mons. She couldn’t prevent the small whimper of fear—this might have been Harry, but it wasn’t her Harry!

She felt the warm gush of his magic pour up into her body. “Sleep,” he insisted. “Rest. Heal,” he added, nuzzling over an especially tender spot on her shoulder, and she thought she might have remembered him… biting her? Oh, gods, what had she gotten into this time?

He succeeded in manhandling her back onto the bed, purring contentedly while she lay there, ramrod straight. Once again, one of those silken soft wings spread out over her like a living blanket while he cuddled her close like a child’s plush toy, arm and leg thrown haphazardly across her body, trapping her.

“Sleep, Hermione,” he murmured sleepily. “Tomorrow comes soon enough.”

******

She didn’t think she would have been able to get any more sleep that night, but apparently, at some point, she had because now with dawn coloring the windows, she was once again awaking.

Unlike her last time waking, she remembered where she was, who she was with, and what had happened to put her there. Harry, she noticed rather objectively, was still feline-looking. In the light of day, however, she felt more in control of herself, more capable of handling the crazy loops and twists life with Harry Potter seemed destined to deliver.

Harry, her best friend, was a Vanteerian.

Okay. Well, they’d already pretty much decided on that before, hadn’t they? So, this really didn’t change anything all that much. After all, one of the characteristics of the vanteeria was its shapeshifting ability, usually that of a cat of some sort. It was maybe a little surprising to see her best friend covered in thick black fur that actually blocked out any hint of his pale skin. Okay, and the claws. Yes, the claws were a bit of a distraction and a peculiarity in the way they extended from the nail bed of the fingers.

Oh, and the wings. Mustn’t forget the wings, she reminded herself. Nothing like birds’ wings, more like a bat’s, she thought, brazenly running her fingers along the soft, fuzzy membrane. Like peach fuzz, she thought, muffling a snicker. It was a little silly to think the ancients had likened a vanteera to an angel. More like a demon, she would have thought, with the peculiar facial features of a feline imposed over a human skull…. Unless, of course, he could fully shift?

Already she began thinking of different tests she would have Harry attempt. Was he stuck in this form? Could he control the shift? How much control would he have? Would he be able to transform into a fully feline form? Would it be a house cat or something bigger? Could he keep his wings but loose the cat features? Could he fly with the wings? Would he be able to shift at all?

“Thinking too hard,” Harry mumbled in protest.

“Yes, well, in case you missed it, you have fur.”

“Wha?”

“Fur,” Hermione confirmed, feeling much more in control and assured with the light of day filling the room. “And a tail. Oh, and wings.”

Harry practically flew from the bed, whirling around and trying to see behind himself causing her to laugh. “What the hell!”

He glared at her reproachfully once he stopped twirling around like a puppy. “Bloody hell, Hermione, I can’t go to class like this!”

“No, I imagine not,” she replied, still chuckling at the sheer absurdity of life with Harry Potter. “I don’t think any of your robes would fit now anyways.”

 

****

Despite Hermione’s encouragement, making Harry’s new additions disappear was not as easy as simply wishing them away, and breakfast was almost over by the time the head boy and head girl made their appearance.

“Hey, are you two okay?” Ron asked, leaning over the table as he snacked up some more bangers for his plate as Neville scooted closer to Hannah to allow more room on the bench for the two to sit down. .

“We ran into some…complications last night,” Harry muttered, starting to pile his plate with beans, toast and rashers while Hermione reached for the tomatoes and fresh fruit, sliding some onto his plate as well.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" his former dorm mate teased before being smacked by his girlfriend and having his attention drawn back to Seamus's and Dean's conversation.

Hannah frowned prettily and leaned in front of Neville. “Complications?” she hissed once she was sure the others weren't listening in.

“Yes, well,” Hermione explained while Harry poked suspiciously at the fruit on his plate. “Your suspicious about Harry became a reality, and it took us a while this morning to make him presentable again.”

“Our suspici—you mean—Harry really is—“

“Yes,” Hermione cut in quickly before Neville could say anything else. “And we can discuss it after Transfiguration. Harry, do eat something, don’t just pick at your food.”

Harry scowled down at his plate, specifically at the rashers that just didn’t taste right. With a humph, he passed off the should-be deliciously fried meat onto Neville’s plate and dug into the fruit. At least it was something.

“I’m so ready for the weekend,” Hannah squirmed. “Will you be going into Hogsmeade with us?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry sighed. “I’m going to need the extra time to get—this—figured out,” he huffed.

“Do you want us to stay and help?” Neville asked, frowning.

“Nah, you’re good. I mean, we can test somethings out today, but you should be fine to enjoy your weekend. Weren’t you talking about maybe visiting Madame Puddifoot’s?” he teased, knocking shoulders.

“Only for a little bit,” Hannah defended. “I’m more of a pub girl than a teahouse, but if we’re going to help keep the rumor-mill focused on us dating, we thought we should give them a little fuel.”

“What about you, Luna?” Hermione asked. “What are your plans?”

“I need to pick up a few things in Hogsmeade, but I don’t anticipate it taking me all that long. I figure, if I head down early, I should be able to avoid most of the crowds, and then I can make it back in time for lunch. That will give me plenty of time to finish up some of my essays and work on my arithmacy project.”

Just then, the post flew in, and Hedwig dived straight for Harry’s shoulder, grooming his hair and chirping at him. He grinned and reached up to release the letter tied to her leg. “Hey, girl. What’ve you got?”

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked as he read the note.

“Looks like I’ll be having lunch with the Headmaster,” he answered, passing her the letter.

******

After Transfiguration first period, in which McGonagall staunchly refused to look at either Hermione or Harry, their group retreated to the head boy’s and girl’s chambers for their free period after waving off the other Gryffindor's invitation to head down to the pitch for some flying. Hermione had history and arithmacy after lunch, but Luna would be joining them since her classes for the week would be over. They spent the hour before lunch testing Harry’s vanteerian abilities—not all that fun for Harry, although the rest of the pard seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Harry practiced calling out his wings, allowing the others to touch and explore the velvety membranes that extended and retracted from his shoulder blades, leaving thin scars down his back. He flapped them about—not having much space to attempt to fly with them while inside the castle, but at least they were able to determine they were large enough and quite possibly strong enough to allow him to fly once he was outside. He had been tempted to try jumping off the balcony, but Hermione had quickly put a stop to that idea.

"Don't even think about it," she told him when she noticed him eyeing up the balcony contemplatively.

Neville snorted. "Face it, mate. That's not going to happen anything soon."

It seemed like they had only scratched the surface of their explorations by the time the lunch period had arrived. Harry walked the pard down to the great hall where they met up with Luna before he left them to head back up towards the headmaster’s office. His shoulders felt stiff and achy from his strange and new accessories. His skin itched. He felt irritable, and really, he just wanted to be back with his pard, but…

Harry took a deep breath to try and calm his tingling nerves. In this, his last year as a student at Hogwarts, he and the headmaster had reached an amiable equilibrium. The head boy would often take tea with the headmaster once or twice a week. They would spend the time talking about the school, the students, Hermione’s and his plans for the school year, his plans for after they graduated. Sometimes they played chess (which was almost as bad as playing against Ron), and sometimes they played a weird tile game, but mostly, they talked. Harry found himself feeling closer to the old man that he’d ever had before…. And that made him feel slightly guilty for somewhat hiding his inheritance from the headmaster.

“Ah, Harry, come in, come in,” the elderly wizard greeted when he knocked at his door. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I thought it might be nice to have a nice quiet lunch, just the two of us, hmm? Come, let’s sit and talk. Would you like some tea, or would you prefer some pumpkin juice? You’ll find this is a special blend. In fact, I’ve asked the elves to specially prepare our meal today. Hmm?”

As he spoke, Dumbledore led the way to a quaint little tea table with two chairs. Small plates and platters were already laid out, awaiting them, but unlike previous times, Harry noticed some of the plates were golden and others silver.

“I think you will find,” Dumbledore continued as they took their seats, “That the dishes on the golden plates to be more palatable, Harry, but, by all means, try the silver, if you’d like.”

Harry frowned, wondering if he’d be able to eat much of anything—they’d discovered that there were some foods that Harry did not react well with, although he was mostly stubborn in giving up attempting them still. Of course, since returning to Hogwarts, Harry had found himself not overly hungry anymore—which presented another problem with Hermione’s insistence that he at least attempt to eat something at each meal.

“Now, Harry, is there anything you would like to tell me first, before we begin our fine meal?” the headmaster opened.

Harry thought, as he stared at the plates and dishes. “I think, well, most things seem to be going well,” Harry hesitated to answer, serving himself from the golden plates as prompted. “The mentorships seem to be working well, mostly. And, of course, there’s a lot of excitement for the extra quidditch teams. Thanks for getting the rest of the staff to agree to be sponsors.”

“No trouble, my boy. Many of the staff enjoy their quidditch, too, you know. And I understand quidditch isn’t the only extra club the students have approached the staff about?”

“No, just the most popular,” Harry agreed. “There’s quite a few extra clubs getting started this year. We had the prefects post suggestion lists in each of the common rooms, so it really is something that the students themselves have an interest in. The lists are all connected, so whenever something is added to one, it shows up on all the others. If there’s enough interest, then a meet up time is posted. Hermione keeps track of the master list, so anything inappropriate can be removed from the lists, and Anthony Goldstein is actually in charge of organizing any of the groups that wish to become formal clubs.”

“Ah, delegation at its best,” Dumbledore mused, and Harry grinned. “And your Samhain celebrations?”

“Hermione and I are going to take this weekend and really flesh out our plans,” Harry admitted. “As you know, we gave you the bare bones of a plan, but we’re hoping to have a solid schedule, complete with supervision and break relief. Our goal is to get as many people involved as possible. Speaking of which…” Harry hesitated a moment, slightly embarrassed and nervous about his next request, hoping like that the elder wizard wouldn’t be insulted. “We were wondering, that is, Hermione and I, well, we were hoping you and Professor McGonagall would be agreeable, that is to say, if you don’t mind, of course, but we would like you to represent the crone and her consort in our festival…?”

Dumbledore’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise and then wrinkled into a delightedly wide smile. “Ah, a truly traditional celebration, then? We haven’t had one at Hogwarts since my youth. I would be delighted to play such an important role, my boy, and I’m sure Professor McGonagall will be equally as honored.”

“I don’t suppose, that is to say… would you be willing to ask her?” Harry blushed. “Hermione and I were going to today, but, well, she didn’t, that is to say, she seemed a bit, er, irritable.”

“Ah, well, I feel I should confess something to you,” the headmaster began gravely before turning to look away from Harry’s questioning eyes. “Last night, as I was preparing for bed, I felt a strange disturbance in the wards. Understandably, I was concerned and went to investigate, which led me to your rooms. I’m afraid I ran into Professors McGonagall and Snape along the way, and they came, too. Well, I—I wonder, how much you remember of last evening?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Er—“

“Yes, exactly,” Dumbledore nodded, coughing a little to clear his throat. “I wonder, how are you finding your meal?”

Harry blinked, confused at the sudden topic change, and startled when he realized he’d eaten most all of the food. The food from the golden plates. “I—it was delicious.”

“Salt,” the headmaster proclaimed sagely.

“Excuse me?”

“The difference between the golden and silver plates,” Dumbledore explained, “is salt. Or rather, lack thereof. You see, I think you’ll find that although vanteerians do not necessarily need to eat to sustain themselves, they do still enjoy the action. They are, however, allergic to salt, so all of their meals must be prepared fresh and as natural as possible.”

“Salt.”

“Yes. I have some other books here that I think you or Ms. Granger will find of interest. I’m sure you’re very excited and perhaps a bit overwhelmed.”

“Did you know?” Harry asked, feeling quite suddenly angry.

“Did I know that you would become or inherit a magical being upon your birthday?” Dumbledore clarified. “No. No, I didn’t know. I knew it was somewhat possible, of course, being that your father was a pureblood, but he did not present a magical creature inheritance and nor did your mother, being muggleborn. However, some weeks ago, Ms. Granger apparently approached Professor McGonagall, inquiring about vanteerians. She, in turn, brought the subject to the rest of the staff’s attention. Many thought nothing more of it, but those few of us who have always had an invested interest in your wellbeing, my boy, knew better than to simply dismiss any random event. Hence, I was able to gather these books which I think may be of some service to you. I’m afraid you will find them conflicting at best and horribly outdated.”

Harry stared at the three rather slim, ratty looking novels. They looked positively ancient—as if they would fall apart if he even breathed on them. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to take them?”

“I think they would be of service to you much more than they will me,” Dumbledore answered. “Besides which, I have already read them.”

Harry sighed. “So you think I’m this vanteerian creature, too, then.”

“Do not despair, Harry," Dumbledore advised. "A magical being inheritance is a rare and wondrous gift. Many magical children grow-up daydreaming and pretending to be a magical being, but few ever achieve their dreams. Less and less, it seems, every year. That you have, well, quite honestly, nothing you manage to accomplish should surprise me anymore, but you constantly do."

“It means I’m not a normal human being anymore.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, Harry, but you were never normal. You have always been marvelously extraordinary. A fact for which I am sorely grateful for, for you would not have been able to accomplish a fraction of your achievements if you were not so wonderfully abnormal. Besides, I’m of the personal opinion that ‘normal’ is severely overrated. Abnormal beings have much more fun, I’m convinced,” Dumbledore added with a twinkling smile.

“I’m not sure how much fun it is, sprouting wings and all.”

“Ah, yes, you’ve transformed now, haven’t you? Was it a complete transformation? You were still humanoid when we left you last night.” There was a faint tint of blush coloring the old man's cheeks, just barely visible over his white whiskers, but his intellectual curiosity would not allow for something as mediocre as embarrassment to deter him from his pursuit of knowledge.

“I sprouted wings and fur all over.”

“But you did not otherwise change shape? Ah, well, perhaps that will come later. If these texts are to be believed, you will have at least one animal shape, as well as the characteristics of several of our more modern magical beings.”

“Yeah, Hannah and Luna have been telling us,” Harry sighed. “It’s a lot to take in, really.”

“You are more than capable of handling it, I’m sure. We are never given more than we can handle; only just enough to make us stronger. And you have quite the strong circle of friends to help and support you. I hope you will remember I am also here for you, my boy.”

****

Harry returned to the head boy’s suite with the headmaster’s tomes in hand. He found Hannah, Luna, and Neville on the sofa, heavenly involved in a fast and furious snogfest, quickly devolving into a shag fest. Hannah and Luna were each straddling one of Neville’s thighs as they took turns snogging or sucking on his throat and chest. The girls’ blouses were strewn carelessly on the stone floor while Neville’s own dress shirt hung off his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. One of his hands was molding and squeezing one of Hanna’s breasts, the other was squeezing and rubbing along Luna’s hip and ass.

“Mm, want to be filled up, want your cock inside me, filling me up," Hannah was mumbling. "Feel so empty. So empty inside. Need you to fill me up, come inside me and fill me up with your cum. Want it so bad.”

“You're such a naughty girl, Hannah,” Harry mused, making sure to seal and spell the door behind him as he carefully set the books he was carrying down. “Look at you rubbing and begging so enticingly against Neville, begging him to feed your greedy pussy, fill you up. Your needy little pussy needs a cock again, doesn’t it? You can’t go but a couple of hours without needing to be filled, to be fucked. You love being shagged, don’t you?”

 "Gods, yes!” the girl shouted, arching her back as she thrust her groin against Neville's thigh and pushed her breasts into his palm, eyes fluttering.

"What do you think? Do you think Neville and I should take turns with you, fucking you, filling you up with our cum?”

The blonde moaned, hips canting back in invitation. “Such a greedy pussy. You want me to shove my cock up inside you right now, don’t you? You don’t care that you’re sitting on another bloke’s lap, rubbing against him like a needy little bitch in heat. You don’t care about anything but having your needy little pussy filled, do you?”

“Gods, please, Harry! So wet!”

“What do you say, Neville? Should we take turns filling Hannah’s needy little pussy with our cocks until we completely fill her up with cum?”

“We could do that,” Neville agreed, “But it seems a bit unfair to Luna.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” the other blonde responded, sliding free from Neville’s lap and laying back into the arm of the sofa, legs spread wide as she began to stroke herself. “I’m quite content to enjoy the view.”

“You heard her, Hannah?" Harry whispered as he came up behind her, rubbing his hands down her sides to grip her hips. "Luna’s going to watch as Neville and I fuck you, fill you with our cum. Do you like that idea?”

Hannah moaned and Neville laughed, “I’d say so, my pants are drenched from where she’s rubbing herself. You better fuck her soon before she comes anymore.”

Harry tilted her hips up and back, pushing her chest and shoulders down into Neville. He flipped her skirt up and groaned when he realized she wasn’t wearing any panties underneath. “You dirty little girl. You wanted to get fucked, didn’t you? Not wearing any panties… were you hoping for any cock to come by and fill you up?”

“No!”

“Good, because you’re ours. I won’t share you with anyone who is not already one of us, do you understand, Hannah? You are ours,” he growled, thrusting into her hot, wet sheath, causing her to cry out sharply as he filled her. “Say it.”

“Yours. Yours! I’m sure. I belong to you, you and our pard.”

“Mm,” Harry purred. “Very good. Can you feel my cock, Hannah? Can you feel how deeply it’s sinking inside of you, filling you up? Is it enough or do you want more?”

Hannah cried and sobbed and nodded, delirious, arms wrapping in a near strangle hold around Neville's neck. “Oh, gods, so good, you’re filling me so good, Harry, so deep. So good, Harry. Feels so full, so good. I want it. I want it all. Give it to me, Harry.”

“You want more?”

“Yes, yes, more, please, give me more,” she begged, thrashing between him and Neville.

Harry grinned and thrust deep, particularly deep, and ground his pelvis into hers. In a moment, he felt the tingling pressure, similar to as if he was going to urinate, but different, and Hannah tensed, freezing for a moment before groaning.

“Oh, gods, what’s that?” she gasped, smooshing her pussy against him as the pressure built, deeper inside her than she'd ever felt touched. “Shit, Harry, what is that? What are you doing?”

“Do you like it?” he panted.

“I—I don’t know,” she gasped, looking wide eyed and fearful into Neville’s face, and she realized she was still straddling his lap while Harry continued to fuck her from behind, his hips smacking into her, causing her to bounce and jiggle against Neville while he helped hold and support her. She whimpered.

“You like how good I’m filling you up, don’t you? You love how much my cock sinks so deep inside your pussy. I’m going to come, and when I do, I’m going to pour all my cum deep inside your pussy, Hannah. You’ll be leaking for days,” he promised with a particularly savage thrust that saw her rearing back, screaming. He held still even as she writhed, savoring the feeling of his release rushing from him… and only once he was sure he was finished, did he stumble back and fall onto the sofa beside Neville.

“That… was hot,” the nymph breathed, staring glassy eyed towards Harry, checks flushed.

“Yeah? You liked that?” Harry asked breathlessly, more than a little lightheaded.

“Hell, yeah,” Neville responded, licking his dry lips and adjusting his spent cock, uncomfortable in its confined spade of his trousers.

“Mm, me, too,” Hannah mumbled from where she had curled up against Neville's chest, legs still spread and very obviously leaking from her core.

“You had a satisfying meeting with the headmaster?” Luna asked, casually licking her fingers clean.

“Uh, well, yes, I suppose I did, but honestly, it was more the sight that greeted me when I got back that was so inspiring,” Harry confessed, reaching over and flicking one of Neville’s nipples, causing the boy to jerk, which in turned disrupted Hannah who mewed in protest. “Dumbledore gave us some books about vanteerians that he thought might be helpful.”

“That was very nice of him.”

“Yes, it was,” Harry agreed, frowning at her. “Are you going to continue to hang out all the way over there, or are you going to come over here and cuddle?” he finally asked.

Luna grinned and agreeably crawled over Neville and Hannah, who were leisurely going at it again—Neville having pulled the Hufflepuff properly into his lap so he could impale her and was slowly undulating in and out—and tumbled into Harry’s lap, curling up and cuddling. “Better?” she asked.

“Much,” he agreed, pulling her just that inch closer and nuzzling against her crown while his hands sought to stroke and soothe. “Hermione will be annoyed with us if she finds out we spent the entire afternoon snuggling and shagging.”

“Then I suppose we should probably do something other than just shagging and snuggling,” Luna responded with a small pout. “I suppose we could test your abilities now that you’ve finally transformed. Do you think you could call up your fur again? I think it would be quite cute to see a Harry-kitty.”

Harry snorted. “I don’t think it works like that, Luna?”

“How do you know? Have you tried?” she challenged, and he grinned and shook his head, shifting her off his lap so he could stand.

“Alright, so a cat, huh? The books said I should be able to transform into a leopard or panther, right?”

“Or a house cat,” Luna reminded him. “You should also be able to transform into a humanoid feline, like last night.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a place to start,” Harry said with a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to imagine himself covered in thick black fur like he had been this morning. His face had looked funny this morning, too, he remembered, misshaped. It hadn’t felt funny, though, which was strange, he thought. And he’d had a tail, which had moved smoothly with him and surprisingly not gotten in the way at all.

“Yes,” Luna hissed, rubbing a hand along his hip, buttocks, and thigh. Harry purred in response—literally purred. He blinked in surprise, and realized he was taller than he had been a moment ago, and that the world seemed in sharper contrast, and scents were stronger, more distinct. He stepped away from the musky bodies on the sofa, and he realized his balance and center of gravity had shifted as well. Looking down, he saw his feet had elongated and that he was essentially standing on the balls of his feet. He was the strange humanoid feline from this morning.

“Beautiful, Harry,” Luna told him. “You’re absolutely beautiful. Do you want to try transforming completely into a cat now or back to human?”

He thought about it. “Let’s push on. I would like to know, for sure, if I can really transform like the books say I’m supposed to be able to.”

Luna grinned at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he might have experienced a similar fissure of fear as when Hermione decided he needed to learn a particular spell. That moment of panic a man feels when he realizes he’s just agreed to something, he knows not for sure what.

 

Still to come…  
*A Hogsmeade weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and prods--it really did make me sit down and work some scenes out. I did go back and add to previous chapters--filling in the summer a bit more, including more on Draco's background. I'd like to remind everyone that this is a slow-to-update as well as very RAW rough-draft of a story. It is being posted not as a ready-to-publish piece but as a kick-in-the-pants-need-to-actually-finish-filling-in-the-missing-scenes work. Thank you for your continued support and understanding.


	18. Hogsmeade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> revised

Hogsmeade  
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~THEN~

“I’m so ready for the weekend,” Hannah squirmed. “Will you be going into Hogsmeade with us?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry sighed. “I’m going to need the extra time to get—this—figured out,” he huffed.

“Do you want us to stay and help?” Neville asked, frowning.

“Nah, you’re good. I mean, we can test somethings out today, but you should be fine to enjoy your weekend. Weren’t you talking about maybe visiting Madame Puddifoot’s?” he teased, knocking shoulders.

“Only for a little bit,” Hannah defended. “I’m more of a pub girl than a teahouse, but if we’re going to help keep the rumor-mill focused on us dating, we thought we should give them a little fuel.”

“What about you, Luna?” Hermione asked. “What are your plans?”

“I need to pick up a few things in Hogsmeade, but I don’t anticipate it taking me all that long. I figure, if I head down early, I should be able to avoid most of the crowds, and then I can make it back in time for lunch. That will give me plenty of time to finish up some of my essays and work on my arithmacy project.”

 

~NOW~  
-Saturday, 18 October, Hogsmeade-

It was still very early when Luna arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast, but surprisingly, there were already several members of Gryffindor seated.  She slipped onto the bench next to Hannah and Neville.  The latter was slightly blurry-eyed, as were several of the other boys, but the Hufflepuff girl was as giggly and bouncy as ever, chatting amiably with Lavender, Pavarti, and her fellow Ravenclaw, Padma.

“Morning, Luna!" Hannah greeted with ever-effusive enthusiasm.  "The group of us were planning on heading down to Hogsmeade together before splitting up.  And, if it’s all right with you, Neville and I would like to join you while you run your errands. There are some things I need to pick up, too, for myself and some of the first and second years.”

“That’s fine,” the Ravenclaw responded calmly, returning Hannah’s friendly smile with one of her own. “It’s very nice of your to help pick up things for the first and second years who can’t go to Hogsmeade. What will you get?”

“Oh, the regular, I suppose – quills, parchment, and chocolate.” She grinned at her pard mate. “And the seventh years always chip in and buy the first years scarves.”

"I wish our seventh years had down that for us," Ron groused, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I want to hit of Honeyduke's for sure."

"Why am I not surprised," Lavender mused, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at her best friend.  "Well, as long as you remember to pick me up some chocolate."

"What? Aren't you coming?" Ron asked confused.

Pavarti huffed a sympathetic laugh as Lavender sighed. "I told you, Ron. We're going to spend the morning shopping, and then we'll all meet up at the Three Broomsticks. Of course, you're always welcomed to join us."

"Whoa! Danger, mate, danger," Seamus piped up. "Back away slowly, and you just might survive."

"Err, right, yeah, no, that's okay," Ron sputter. "You go have fun. I'm fine."  The other's twittered, but for once, Ron didn't mind that they were possibly laughing at him, just glad to have escaped an obviously dire fate.

“I need to pick out a new set of robes for indoors and outdoors,” Neville put in. “But I could always have my gran order them from our tailor. I would like to pick up some candy, though, and there’s supposed to be a new book out about subtropical plants.”

“So that’s a stop at all the staple shops, then?” Hannah questioned, looking at them for confirmation. “I mustn’t forget, either—Hermione asked for some knitting wool in all our favorite colors. I think she’s planning on making us all scarves for Christmas.”

“She has been practicing,” Neville commented. “She’s definitely gotten better.”

“That’s very nice of her,” Luna mused. “I shall have to think of something I can make for everyone, too. It’s so much nicer than simply bought gifts.”

“I’m not ready to think about Christmas presents yet!” Hannah mock-wailed. “It’s only October. We still have two whole months before Christmas.”

“Actually, I think Harry mentioned something about trying to hold a Yule celebration this year,” Neville mused.

Seamus turned to him, wide-eyed. “Are they gonna try an’ bring back all the old traditions, then? Might dangerous, I would think.”

“Maybe not *all*,” he hedged with a wary grin. “But I have a feeling they’re going to at least attempt as many as they can get away with. He mentioned something about some of the rift between the purebloods and muggle-borns could be mended if only the muggle-borns were exposed more to the wizarding traditions. That muggles now-a-days were a lot more open-minded then they had been in the past, and many of the kids today would really enjoy the different celebrations and traditions, but they didn’t know because no one ever taught them or talked about them.” Neville shrugged.

“Sounds more like something Hermione would say, if you ask me,” Ron coughed, half-choking on a meat roll.

“Do you think he’s right?” Padma asked nervously.

“Ignorance and arrogance often go hand in hand,” Luna answered. “Do you think it’s too early to head out now?”

“Well, if we leave now,” Dean thought aloud, “it would give us time to stroll the shops right when they opened and maybe beat most of the crowds.”

“Sounds good to me,” Hannah nodded, standing up and leading the others to stand as well. “Let’s get our errands done and then we can go on our date,” she teased Neville, taking his arm.

“Joy,” he sighed, holding out his other arm to Luna, who giggled lightly and followed her escort out.

The band of students merrily made their way down to the wizarding village, where they then split off into smaller clusters to go about their morning. The pard trio was succeedful in accomplishing their errands before the crowds became too swollen and choking. They all bought more than they had originally intended, but were happy with their purchases and intentions. It was nearing noon when, loaded down with their bags shrunken into one large sized sack, Luna kissed first Hannah’s and then Neville’s cheek outside Madame Puddifoot’s, wishing them fun before heading back to Hogwarts.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Neville entreated, and Hannah hastily agreed, squeezing the younger girl’s hand.

“Thank you for the offer. Maybe next time,” Luna promised. “I really do want to work on my arithmacy project today.”

They let her go somewhat reluctantly, watching until she was past the corner before turning to face their own challenge. “Well, I suppose we should get to it,” Neville said stoutly, reaching forward to hold the door open for Hannah.

“So noble,” she teased, setting the mood for the rest of their ‘date’. As they sat beside one another at the tiny little table with rose petals and cherry blossoms floating in the air, they teased and joked back and forth in addition to really getting to know one another. Surely they had been friendly for many years, and more recently they had become more than just friendly, but still, there was plenty to discover about each other. Behind the privacy of a spell, Neville shared some of his family history with the blonde Hufflepuff, as well as some of his hopes for the future. Hannah also shared some of her past hardships and future hopes and dreams.

They were just agreeing to head back to Hogwarts and skip the Three Broomsticks altogether when they heard the screams.

* * *

 

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year—October 18th.

The weather was surprisingly fine—a beautiful, crisp autumn day, tempting more than a fair few students to spend as much time as possible in the small wizarding town. By lunchtime, most all the students who were eligible to visit Hogsmeade had left, leaving the great hall and the school over all with an almost eerie empty feeling of vacancy and space.

The news in the papers had been getting steadily worse as the days progressed. Attacks and kidnappings, murder and mayhem smeared the headlines more days than not, but still, off the students were allowed to go, out of the safety of Hogwarts' gates.

Surely they could have done something else, made some other sort of arrangements. They *knew* it wasn't safe.

Dumbledore still allowed them to go.

The Death Eaters attacked.

It was too sweet of a temptation to pass up. They raided the village.

Out of a 335 student body, nearly 200 students were in the village that day.

When the distress call came in the form of a cat patronus, Professor McGonagall’s voice calling out, “Death Eaters! In Hogsmeade!” the remaining students started screaming and crying.

“Be calm!” Dumbledore commanded. “You are safe here. Stay in the castle!” He then turned to the staff who were present and began issuing further orders.

Meanwhile, Harry turned to Hermione. “I need to go.”

“Like hell you do,” the head girl grumbled. “We need to stay here and help keep the first and second years calm.”

“You can do that. Get them organized and ready to greet the returning students. They’re probably going to need some extra beds and stuff in the Hospital Wing. Maybe teach the firsties some simple first aid tricks for when people start getting back, but I need to get out there and help.”

“Dammit, Harry, you just can’t—“

“Neville and Hannah are still out there,” Harry hissed, “Along with others. I can’t just sit behind, Hermione. I have to go.”

She growled fiercely, and then surprising them both, pulled him in for a quick, angry kiss before releasing him. “You better come back safely, Potter.”

He grinned lopsidedly at her. “I’ll always come back to you, Hermione. Promise.”

And then he was gone.

Harry pushed at his magic, willing his body to change, just like he’d practiced repeatedly the day before. The change came smoothly—one moment a young man running through the halls of the castles, towards the main door, the next a large black panther broke free of the stonewalls. He scented the acrid taste of smoke long before he saw it rising up above the treetops from the direction of Hogsmeade. With a heave, large bat-like wings unfurled from his back and pumped at the air.

He could hear the chaos—the screaming of people afraid, the crying of children, the yelling and shouting of spells—as he got ever closer. But not close enough, not fast enough.

The crack snap of apparitions sounded loudly in his ears, and he swooped low and tried to maw a robed and masked Death Eater who was trying to grab at another student while holding onto a screaming child.

He was too late. The death eater had snatched up the second child and popped away. Harry landed hard and pushed at his magic again, willing his body to change and reform back into that of a young man, wand in hand at the ready.

But there was no one left to fight.

The entire raid had lasted less than ten minutes, leaving behind burning buildings and terrified people.

Quickly, Harry scurried up to the first group he saw. “Is everyone here all right? Is anyone hurt?”

“My brother, Scott, is,” one of the girls cried, younger enough to be a third or fourth year. “One of them grabbed Robin and was trying to get me, too, but he fought him off, and he cursed Scott and grabbed Lanthy instead!”

He got a look at Scott’s injury—a jagged slice from shoulder to hip that was bleeding steadily. Another kid was holding his robe against the wound, trying to slow the blood. “Try ‘episky’,” he told them, and then, determining that the kid would live, he moved on.

By the time he’d reached the fourth group, Harry had already conjured seven black sheets to drape over bodies left fallen. When others started arriving—aurors and the teachers from Hogwarts—he nearly hexed them in defense of a sixth group of students he was attempting to treat.

“Professor!” he called out, seeing an ashen Professor McGonagall limping towards a tall, dark auror he recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt from the Order.

“Potter!” the scottswoman’s brogue ran deep.

“There’s a lot injured—students and townsfolks alike,” he spoke quickly, jogging up to them. “I wasn’t sure if we wanted to tempt sending the students back to Hogwarts through the gates or if we should send them through the secret passage through Honeydukes.”

“It wouldn’t remain a secret passage if most of the students know about it,” the deputy headmistress pointed out. “The headmaster’s sent word that Hagrid is sending the carriages down. We’ll be able to transport all the students and anyone injured back to Hogwarts. The Three Broomsticks is in shambles, but Abeforth has opened up the Hogshead. We’ll send the students who can be moved there. Meanwhile, we need to take a headcount. They were snatching children, the evil thieves!”

With a sense of direction, Harry left the raving woman to her rant, darting back the way he came to inform the groups he’d already met up with where to go. He quickly taught several students the mobilicorpus spell so they could safely move their peers as well. As he continued forward, he noticed members of the groups he’d already visited breaking off and tending to other groups further ahead, and slowly, more and more students crawled out of their hiding spaces and joined the exodus towards the Hogshead.

Aurors were swarming the small town before much longer, running from one spot to another, shouting and calling out to each other as they surveyed the damage. Harry ignored them all—once, he’d thought to join their ranks, but he’d moved beyond that future career choice by his sixth year. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he thought he knew he didn’t want to spend any more of his time chasing after evil wizards. He wanted to act, not react, he thought despairingly as he knelt beside a whimpering elder witch.

“Are you hurt?”

“They took my Livius, my grandson,” the woman gasped. “They took him. Pushed me right aside and snatched him away. Dagbert tried to stop them, and they killed him. Just like that. Sweet old dumb Dagbert, never hurt anyone, and they killed him. Took my grandbaby and killed my friend. Why? Why are they snatching children? What do they want? He’s barely even fourteen. So excited, we were going to be having lunch in the Three Broomsticks…”

Harry called another student over, a fifth year prefect from Slytherin, and charged him with helping get the old witch and any others over to the Hogshead. He conjured a black sheet for the wizard lying nearby, and then he pushed on. He was just approaching the Hogshead when he heard the carriages rumbling up the path from Hogwarts. He sighed. Soon the students would be safely back at Hogwarts.

“Everybody, listen up,” he called stepping into the dingy pub. “The carriages are approaching. We need to get everyone back as safely as possible. Let’s send our most injured in the first wave, that way they can get to Madame Pomfrey’s tender care in a timely manner,” he attempted to tease. “We also need a head count of who’s here and who’s missing. Prefects? Grab a parchment a start up a list of who’s here and accounted for—start with the injured and their companions so we can get them on the carriages. Anyone sixth or seventh year who feels they’re capable, there’s a lot of cleanup needed. Get your name on a list and then pick a couple of spots around town where you can help out for a while, until the rest of the carriages get here.”

“Do you think it wise?” one of the upper years called. “I mean, is it safe for us to go out there again?”

“The town is crawling with aurors currently and has just been attacked by death eaters,” Harry growled. “Of course it’s not safe! But there are still people out there who are hurt and need help. What kind of Hufflepuff would you be if you didn’t offer them aid?”

When the carriages rolled up outside the pub there were additional screams and cries of terror, and many of the students already on edge had their wands drawn and pointed, ready to fend off the danger.

“What are they?” one of the younger years whimpered. “They’re horrid looking!”

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Do you mean the thestrals?” he asked calmly heading out to pat one along the skeleton neck. “They won’t hurt you. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Hogwarts has its very own herd of thestrals that live in the forrest.”

“I’ve never seen them before!” another student, older than before, called out.

“No,” Harry agreed, looking at the pale, muck-streaked faces before him, and he thought a little piece of himself die as he realized they’d all lost a piece of their innocence today. “Only someone who’s seen death, seen someone die, can see a thestral. Now, come along. We don’t have much time for wasting. Those of you in Care of Magical Creatures can ask Hagrid to tell you more about them, but for right now, it’s important to get everyone safely back to the castle. Prefects? Who’s signed in and ready to go? Let’s get them loaded and on their way!”

He turned the situation at the Hogshead over to the fifth and sixth year prefects to manage while he led the capable others back out into the smoking town. It promised to be a long, stressful afternoon and night.

* * *

 

 

Hermione exhaled deeply as she stood up and absently swiped a strand of sweaty bangs back from her face, looking out and surveying the scene before her. The Great Hall was transformed. Gone were the house tables—pushed back to make way for hastily conjured cots. Along one wall, the Slytherin table alone remained, leavened down with a veritable feast of finger foods waiting patiently for someone to come along and pick at them. Thank goodness for stasis charms.

As the daughter of dentists, Hermione had been well equipped in emergency first aid response. She knew how to treat a variety of bumps, scrapes, and bruises. As one of Harry Potter’s closest friends, she’d learned to develop a bit wider repertoire of first aid. After all, the wizarding world did not have paramedics who would be arriving within minutes of a phone call, and, well, Harry and Ron could be more than a little stubborn on seeking assistance when hurt or injured. Still, even with her casual perusal of various medical spells and first aid treatment, Hermione had never participated in a triage situation, and that is what she found herself embroiled in.

 Let it not be said the head girl wasn’t a quick study.

 Working side-by-side with Madame Pomfrey and a handful of other upper years, Hermione greeted each new carriage that arrived from Hogsmeade. With her heart skyrocketing into her throat with each new arrival, her pulse battering an allegro tempo as she raced to see which familiar face would appear next, she helped bring the wounded and traumatized witches and wizards into the Great Hall where they could be assessed more fully and treated.

Thankfully, most could be cured with a few wand flicks and a swallow of potion. Professor Snape had disappeared with a small handful of students almost as soon as the line of carriages began arriving. Hermione had barely noticed his absence until she spotted a house elf delivering a tray of freshly made potions—bruise salves, calming draughts, skelo-grow, burn salves, even sleeping aids. As quickly as the potions seemed to run out, a fresh batch would arrive.

 Additional healers from St. Mungo’s had been called in to assist. Several of the students who had not been in Hogsmeade were anxious to assist, following around the healers like ducklings and unfortunately sometimes getting in the way. When that happened, the head healer bellowed for everyone not injured and seeking treatment to leave the hall immediately.

 “He can’t mean for everyone to leave,” Hermione protested, glaring at the man from across the hall before turning to those nearest her. “Anthony, can you see about finding a prefect from each House. We’ll send the first and second years to their dorms, unless they have family down here. Then they can stay.”

 “I’m not sure how much of a difference it’ll make,” the seventh year Ravenclaw replied. “It’s like most all of the school’s here in beds already.”

 “Hopefully, it’ll be enough,” Hermione grimaced. “With so many wounded, Madame Pomfrey will probably be releasing the less injured back to their own beds to recover. That should free up more space for the Hogsmeade residents who can’t return home yet.”

 She watched, heartbroken, as another body draped in a black sheet was gently levitated into one of the side chambers.   Anthony looked to where she was looking and breathed out rapidly. “Yeah. I think—I think I’ll check in with Madame Pomfrey, then, too, and see if she’ll be willing to let us start moving some of the others out of here.”

 Outside, another carriage rolled up through the Hogwarts gates, laden with passengers and on towards the large entry doors where others waited to help the injured and wounded witches and wizards into the Great Hall. And the pattern repeated. Over and over. Too many times to count.

* * *

 Harry scurried from one building to the next. Aurors had arrived, eventually, and he was helping to clear buildings and identify the injured for rescue. He scuttled down next to the crumpled form of an older witch. A quick spell had alerted him to the fact she was still alive but unconscious, and he did a quick visual scan even as he waved his wand for a simple diagnostic.

 “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” he asked gently but firmly. “Can you wake up? We’re going to get you help. Just hang in there, okay?”

 “Harry?” a weak, shaky voice called out to him, and he almost didn’t recognize it. Almost.

 Senses high on alert, his head whipped around as he peered into the wreckage of one of the store fronts. Hogsmeade was a mess. Even with magic, Harry figured it would take a bit to put everything back to rights… and even then, it would never be the same. Could never be the same.

 “Harry,” the same voice breathed out with relief, and this time, Harry was sure of who it was.

 “Hannah,” he called out, sliding down near the wreckage, trying to get closer. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

 The blonde Hufflepuff gave out a small, whimpering, huff of a laugh. “Been a bit better,” she answered before coughing. “Neville’s here, too. He’s still out. I think he’s hurt worse, but I don’t want to try and move anything… the rest of the wall might come down on us…”

 “I’ll get you out, just hold tight.”

 “Not going anywhere, promise,” Hannah sighed, still breathing noticeably heavy. “There were Deatheaters, Harry.”

 “I know, Hannah. But it’s all right. They’re gone now. You’re safe. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

 “But they tried. One came up and tried to grab me, but Neville fought him off. And I was so scared, Harry. I didn’t know what to do. I just froze up. All those things you’d taught us in the DA. They just vanished, right out of my head. I couldn’t think of a thing. And then Neville was there, fighting to protect me. And he was so… beautiful, Harry. And then I just snapped out of it, and I fought, Harry. I helped fight the Death Eaters. I don’t think I really hurt any of them, but I didn’t just hide, Harry. I helped fight them.”

 “You did well, Hannah. I’m very proud of you for defending yourself and Neville.”

 As he kept her talking, Harry studied the lay of the building. Hannah was right to fear attempting to move any of the debris off of where she and Neville were hiding. One small shift looked like it could finish taking down the entire wall. Still, he couldn’t just leave them in there, waiting around for someone else to show up. Who knows how long that could take?

 “Harry!” another voice shouted from down the lane, whipping his attention around.

 “Ron! Quick,” he shouted, relieved to see his long-time friend. “Get over here! Hannah and Neville are trapped under all of this. We need to try and get them out.”

“Bloody hell,” the ginger puffed, hoofing it over to Harry was and trying to catch sight of Neville and his girlfriend. “Shit, alright, yeah, okay. How do you want to do this?”

 Taking a deep breath, Harry lifted his wand. “Carefully,” he instructed as he began picking his way through the upper levels of debris covering Hannah and Neville. It took some time, in which others had come up on them and then raced off, but eventually Harry and Ron had safely uncovered Hannah’s hiding spot.  It was nothing more than a natural lean to from where the wall had caved in and formed a neat little triangular space with the ground and remaining wall.

 Neville was indeed laid out prone, and if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest as the young wizard-nymph breathed, Harry might have panicked. Well, panicked more than he already was. Hannah was curled up against Neville’s side, but Harry could see where a loose board had pinned her leg. A quick visual scan bred suspicions, shortly followed up by flick of his wand that confirmed it—the leg was broken. Hannah would definitely need more medical aid than he could provide on the spot. Thankfully, help was now on the way.  

 The pair of them were filthy, and injured, and Harry was angrier than he could ever remember being before. He wanted to finish tearing the wall down with his bare hands. Or better yet, have those death eaters who had dared attack his pard here in front of him right this very minute. Then he would tear them apart with his hands and teeth. Shred them to ribbons. Give them a practical demonstration that they would never forget of what happens to someone or something that dared to hurt his—

 “Harry?” Hannah called again, her voice sounding weaker than ever.

 “It’s okay, Hannah,” he responded, crawling down next to her. “I’m here. You’re safe. I’m going to get you back home.”

 “Okay. Tired. And cold.”

 “Just hold on, okay, Hannah? Hold on a little bit longer,” he encouraged, stroking her cheek, mindful of the nasty gash. “Ron’s here, too. Help is on its way, and we’re going to get you back home. Then, you and Hermione and Luna can take a nice long hot bath if you want. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

 “’d like that,” the blonde slurred blearily, offering up a small twitch of her lips in a pale attempt of one of her generous smiles, before she slipped fully into uncounsciousness.

* * *

 

They had succeeded in hording the majority of the first and second years back to their dormitories. Somewhat surprisingly, the feat was made slightly more complicated by the mentorships—not only were the students concerned about the wellbeing of themselves and their family members, but also their mentors and mentees. Hermione herself caught three first years attempting to sneak back down stairs before one of the fifth year Hufflepuff prefects suggested putting the younger mentees to work, helping escort some of the more stable upper years back to their dorms. Soon enough, the students had a slowly moving chain of escorts leading the way back to all four common rooms. 

The carriages up from Hogsmeade had slowed in the last hours, but still Hermione hadn’t spied any sight of the three she was most worried about—Neville, Hannah, or Harry. She tried not to be worried—tried not to let her worry show. Threw herself into helping with the wounded that had arrived.

 “Hermione,” Luna called softly, appearing suddenly at her side, gently touching her arm to break into the head girl's focus.

 “He’s found them,” the blonde told her, fingers curling into the fabric of her cardigan. “They’re on their way back. He’s bringing them back.”

 Hermione released a heavy breath. “Okay. Okay, good. Are they—did you—“ She bit off the questions she wanted to asked, unwilling to press the young fae girl who was still gaining control over her awakening powers.

 “They’re hurt, but they will be fine. I—“

 Luna’s head tilted, cocked to the side as if she was hearing something or saw something only she could notice—which is what Hermione knew she was probably doing. Seeing or hearing fragments of future possibilities. As much as the head girl herself didn’t believe in divination as a rule, she’d come to grudgingly accept the fact that Luna was… different. The exception to make the rule.

“Interesting,” the younger girl finally breathed, blinking out of her trance.

 “What? What’s interesting? Luna!” Hermione snapped when it seemed like she wasn’t going to be answered.

 The Ravenclaw blinked owlishly at her before refocusing on the somewhat frazzled head girl. “We might have a member join us soon. I hadn’t anticipated, hadn’t seen them before, so…. Interesting,” she concluded. “It should be fun.”

 “Fun? Another? You mean…” Hermione looked around them, not noticing anyone nearby who was paying them any attention before she continued on in a hissed voice. “You mean another… for the pard?”

 The blonde nodded, smiling pleasantly. “Yes!”

 “No,” Hermione returned. “Now’s not the time to be—“

 “Not right away, not immediately,” Luna cut in calmly. “But… possibly, depending. Tonight might be the beginning. Potentially. The potential is there. Shall we go meet Harry and the others at the steps?”

 Hermione puffed out an exasperated breath, but she nonetheless followed the other girl out from the Great Hall and into the main entry where the thestral-pulled carriages had been delivering their loads. From the top of the steps, they could see another carriage lumbering up the lane. She waited impatiently as it approached. It seemed to be going slower the closer it came, and Hermione wanted to scream. A cool hand slipping into hers and squeezing was the only thing keeping her rooted to her spot and not flying down the steps to run out and meet the carriage.

Finally, it pulled to a stop below them, and nothing could stop her from rushing down the steps. Not even Luna, who was actually half a step ahead of her.

“Harry!”

“Hermione. Luna,” the head boy greeting as he stepped down from the carriage. “Thank goodness you’re here. I need some help. Neville’s unconscious, and Hannah keeps slipping in and out. She has a broken leg, for sure. Plus, I’ve got others here as well.”

 “Everyone’s being sent to the Great Hall first,” Hermione told him. “They’ve called in medi-witches and additional Healers from St. Mungo’s.”

 “Well, let us get out and we can head up there,” an anxious voice called out from behind him. Harry turned and held a hand out to help the waspish young woman down. “Let go, Blaise! You’re just as hurt as me,” the blonde Slytherin hissed, taking Harry’s hand and stepping clear of the carriage.

 Once down, Daphne Greengrass surveyed her surroundings briefly before turning on the head girl. “Granger,” she greeted. “You said everyone’s in the Great Hall. Have you seen my sister?”

 “Asotria, right?” Hermione tried to remember. “I don’t think so, sorry. At least, I don’t remember seeing her among the injured I was working with.”

“Bella,” Blaise Zabini murmured affectionately, stepping up behind her and squeezing her shoulders reassuringly, having followed her out of the carriage. “There’s still a chance. She’s a smart girl.”

 “That’s not the point,” the blonde snapped, blue eyes threatening to bleed red with unshed tears. “They were grabbing people! What if they took her!”

“I didn’t see everyone, I’m sorry. She might be in there or in her dorms,” Hermione offered. “We’ve been sending a lot of the less wounded back to their common rooms after they’ve been treated. Most just have bumps and scraps—they’re more scared and in shock than physically hurt.”

 “Come, let us check,” the dark skinned Italian coaxed, sighing when his blonde companion rushed forwards with nary a glance back. He turned to them even as Harry was helping Hannah down and releasing her into Hermione’s care. “Potter, thank you for stopping to allow us to ride back with you.”

 “Not a problem. We were all heading to the same place anyway, right?”

 Zabini studied him further before nodding. “Of course,” he allowed before following Greengrass up the steps.

 Meanwhile, Harry turned back to Neville, levitating him carefully out of the carriage and then following the others up the steps and into the Great Hall.

  

* * *

 

By the next morning, the Daily Prophet was announcing the tallies. No one knew for sure how the paper had gotten the numbers so accurately. No one outside of the ministry—which had attempted to cover up the attack—cared. They were too much in shock still.

Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade when the Hogwarts' children were present.

38 deaths were reported; 9 were Hogwarts’ students.

127 critically injured; 53 were deemed seriously injured beyond Madame Pomfrey’s capabilities and were emergency portkeyed to St. Mungo’s.

81 witches and wizards were missing; 27 of them students. No ransom was received.

20 of the 27 students taken had been girls between the ages of 13 and 18. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were hit the hardest, many muggle-borns and half-bloods, but no house was left untouched.

Ginny Weasley among the missing.

 

Still to come…  
*Fallout


	19. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the Hogsmeade Attack, no one is left unaffected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warnings need apply.  
> Oh, and sex. Yep, one of those chapters that earn this story its rating.  
> Revised 1/16/16

**Fallout**

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~THEN~

 

Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade.

38 deaths were reported; 9 were Hogwarts’ students.

 127 injured; 53 were deemed seriously injured beyond Madame Pomfrey’s capabilities and were emergency portkeyed to St. Mungo’s.

81 witches and wizards were missing; 37 of them students. No ransom was received. 

24 of the 37 students taken had been girls between the ages of 13 and 18. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were hit the hardest, many muggle-borns and half-bloods, but no house was left untouched.

Ginny Weasley was among the missing. 

 

~NOW~

_-The Week that Followed-_

 Hannah’s leg was not a clean break—more’s the pity for her. Harry commiserated with her, holding her hand as a mediwitch came by to vanish the smashed bone fragments and administer a dose of Skelo-grow. He tried to distract her with stories he half-remembered from listening to Dudley watch the telly from his cupboard, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

 Hermione had commandeered two cots side by side for their use, so Neville was laid out right beside them. Luna had taken up position at his side and was lovingly combing through his sweaty brown hair as the nymph continued to sleep on. A healer had visited them and deemed Neville would recover. He was merely magically exhausted and apparently his magic had put him in a coma to recoup.

 “Do you think…” Hermione hesitated. “I could go bring one of his plants here. Do you think it would help?” she offered.

 “Couldn’t hurt,” Hannah mumbled groggily. “He did throw around a lot of magic against those death eaters.”

 “I think that’s a lovely idea, Hermione. Thank you,” Luna encouraged. “Some of his plants nearby will surely help him feel better.”

 With a final nod from Harry, the head girl darted off to go collect some of the many little clippings the nymph had gifted them over the last couple of weeks. Since nymphs were creatures of nature, she hoped their presence would help soothe and support the boy's magic in replenishing itself.

 “I should have been there,” Harry grumbled, watching Luna pet Neville while he continued to caress Hannah’s hand.

 “Not much you could’ve done if you were there,” Hannah protested, wincing and cuddling closer to him. “It’s not like they were sticking around to fight or anything. Just popping up and grabbing people before popping away again.”

 “I could’ve maybe helped protect some of the students or something.”

 “You could’ve gotten hurt, too,” Hannah denied. “I glad you and Hermione weren’t there. You, too, Luna. I’m glad you were safe. Neville and I were already decided to head back. Missed you guys.”

“Aw,” Luna smiled prettily at the other blonde. “Just think, we could have enjoyed the entire rest of the afternoon together. Death eaters suck.”

 Harry snorted and nearly choked on air. “Yeah, they do.”

 “Here,” Hermione called out as she returned, a tray filled with miniature pots in hand. She set them out and quickly resized them, watching a bit mesmerized as some of the clippings seemed to lean closer towards Neville, the leaves actually turning towards him. “I hope it helps,” she muttered, settling onto the cot on the other side from Luna.

 “I’m sure it will help a lot,” Luna reassured her just as a commotion at the other end of the hall started up. A loud = **CRACK** = had almost everyone’s head whipping around to see what had happened.

 Draco Malfoy stood, squared off Daphne Greengrass, rubbing his cheek.

 “Stay away from my sister, Malfoy,” the Greengrass heiress growled, glaring at the former Malfoy heir.

 “If this is the thanks I can expect to receive for saving her life and keeping her safe, you may be assured,” the seventh year male prefect returned, offering a perfunctory bow before turning away and leaving the hall.

 “What was that all about?” Hermione wondered aloud.

 “Our fair Ice Queen does not approve of her baby sister’s affections towards Draco,” a voice spoke up quietly from behind them. “Nor of his affections in return.”

 The group turned as a whole, to spy the dark-haired Italian poster-boy of Slytherin.  

 “Zabini,” Harry greeted, taking note of the white bandage slung around his arm and shoulder. “You all right?”

 “Ehn. Merely a dislocated shoulder,” the Slytherin replied. “A mediwitch was… kind… enough to help reset it. However, pain drafts are being reserved for the more seriously injured. So I shall make do. I wished to once again express my gratitude and inquire after your friends’ health?”

 Hannah didn’t quite stifle a giggle. “Why do all Slytherins talk like they’re still stuck in the Founders’ Era?”

 “Don’t be silly,” Luna chided. “It’s clearly the Salmarian Era.”

 “Luna,” Hermione started before sighing in defeat.

 “Hmm?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Thanks, Zabini,” Harry started before the girls could continue.

 “Blaise.”

 “Wha?”

 “My name,” the Slytherin answered with a grin, “is Blaise. I’d be honored if you would use it.”

 “Ah, yeah. All right. Blaise,” Harry nodded. “But I meant it before. You don’t have to, uh, ‘express your gratitude’ or anything. We’re good. I would have helped out anyone.”

“Yes, I know. You’re too generous sometimes.”

“Mmm,” Hannah hummed. “Harry can be very generous.”

 “Ignore her,” Harry mumbled. “She’s dosed on skelo-grow and the pain’s making her a bit loopy.”

 “Nothing wrong with a little loopiness,” Luna teased, continuing to pet Neville. “And she is right. You can be… quite… generous.”

 Blaise looked from one girl to the other, as if taking in the positioning of the five friends, before returning his attention to the only awake male. “Your friends will both be all right then? Abbott and Longbottom?”

 “Hannah will be right as rain in the morning,” Hermione interjected, “And we’re hopeful Neville will wake up then, too.”

 “That is good. Then I will… leave you to your friends,” he added, sparing another analyzing glance at them all before departing. “Good night… Harry, ladies.”

 “I don’t think Zabini’s said as much in the seven years he’s been sharing classes with us,” Hermione mused, watching him leave.

 “Mmm, and such a dreamy voice he has,” Hannah purred. “Could probably make reading a first year spell book sexy.”

 Harry snorted. “You should try and get some sleep. Seriously.”

 “Can’t. Brain won’t turn off.”

 “Well, maybe you could tell us what happened?” Hermione asked. “We’ve been getting bits and pieces of stories from everyone as they come in, but mostly, we’ve been focused on just treating people. What happened, Hannah?”

 “Death eaters.”

 “I know that,” the head girl responded exasperatedly. “I mean, how? When? Why?”

 “Well, why do any of those terrorists do things? I don’t know, Hermione. They were just grabbing people and disappearing with them. Neville stopped one from disappearing with me and then we were running, trying to get to the other students.”

 “I don’t understand,” Hermione groused. “What did they want? Why attack Hogsmeade and then take people? What are they planning?”

 No one had an answer to that. At least not one they wanted to voice.

 

 

* * *

 

The week following the Hogsmeade Raid was like a shallow dream. Neville did wake up the next morning—a little sore and achy, but overall all right. He and Hannah were both released to their common rooms, but they ended up retreating to the head boy and girl’s suite instead. Although classes continued once Monday came, no one seemed to be able to really focus on anything, not even the teachers. Not one class third year and above was untouched, whether by injury, disappearance, or death. By the end of the day, almost all of the student body had started sporting black memorial bands with the names of the eight students who had died from the attack. On Tuesday evening, a combined service was held. By Wednesday, white ribbons with names of the missing began appearing.

The seventh year Gryffindors banded around Ron--the youngest Weasley male was a pale shadow of himself since finding out his baby sister was among the missing. He was even off his eating, which left the others seriously worried about their classmate. Harry and Hermione made an extra effort to check in with their long-time friend, but it was more than obvious Lavender was keeping a close eye on her boyfriend. She made sure he ate. She made sure he slept. She even made sure he showered.

 Every morning, the Daily Prophet was searched, friends and family members of the missing thirty-seven students anxiously looking to find word of a ransom note sent. They were waiting for letters from home with hopeful news.

 None came.

 Harry knew there wouldn't be a ransom sent. He knew there wouldn’t be any hopeful news for the families, because he knew exactly what the Death Eaters planned to do with their captives. After all, he was forced to watch almost every single night in his 'dreams'.  He wasn’t sure if Voldemort knew he was watching or not. He knew the Death Eaters had no intention of ever returning any of the 81 people taken from Hogsmeade. Just as he knew the chances of anyone other than a Death Eater seeing any of them alive again was next to nill.

 

* * *

 

 

  The culling began immediately, before night had fallen even. He did not begrudge them their fun and celebrations. After all, they had done well. Not as many as he would have liked, but still more than he thought them capable of. Eighty-one new guests, and all of magical blood.

 He had ordered the masses knocked out—didn’t care to listen to the whining and sniveling as they pleaded for their lives. Some of his most loyal death eaters he allowed to pick out a captive of their own to attend to their private chambers. These pets were under the sole care of their new master. It would fall unto his death eaters to ensure their pets received their potions while they were required to service only their new master—in whatever capacity was commanded of them. 

 A carefully selected number were taken away, set aside and hidden from the rest. Another handful were gifted in payment to the wolves loyalty. He cared not for how the beasts would use the women.

Of the remaining stock—generally, the more seasoned bodies—the females were divvied up amongst the houses immediately. Once there, their standard regiment of potions would be administered daily with their meals. The males were separated from the females and sent immediately into the tender care of the healers. There, they would begin their potion regime which would, out of necessity, need to be more extensive than that of the females. As such, it was a day or two before the male captives began joining their female companions in the public chambers.

 Their guests were cycled through the public chambers--fancier than the dungeons, but only just.  There they were obliged to service anyone who took a fancy to them.  And his Death Eaters were not shy or embarrassed. In fact, they delighted in cheering their compatriots on, even offering advice before passing a girl or boy on to the next waiting in line. 

Night after night, he visited the houses, silently observing his death eaters while they never knew of his presence. Some, he admired their creativity. Some, he questioned their depravity. None, he interfered with. No, indeed, he merely watched, observed, while his death eaters took their pleasure. It mattered little to him if the captive was face up, flat on their back, or face down, smooshed into the floor; whether they were strapped up in buckles or chains, dangling helplessly while being used, or strapped down to a post or bench, forcibly held open. He didn’t care if some of their guests were bloodied or bruised, if they were pinched, prodded, or poked.

Only a few were still attempting to cry out protests days later. Most of them were too beaten, too bruised, hurting and numb to do more than whimper at renewed attentions.  And with his slowly growing number of followers, there was always new and renewed attentions.  Their guests were kept occupied.

And as the calendar marched forward towards the end of the year, October 31, Samhain, his anticipation grew.

 

* * *

 

 Harry came out of his sleep with a wrenching gasp, and would have flung himself off the bed if not for the arms banded around him, pulling him back, holding him down.

 “Just breathe,” a soothing voice commanded, rough hands smoothing down his arms and chest. “Just breathe and relax. Let it all go. You’re here. You’re safe.”

 “But they’re not,” Harry bit out bitterly.

 Behind him, he felt Neville stiffen, freezing in his gentling touches, before he felt the heavy exhale against his back. Instantly, Harry felt guilty. Since waking up Sunday morning, Neville had been blaming himself for not having done more to protect their fellow classmates. Harry had argued that at least he had been there to help, and they’d started to get into an argument before Hannah had smacked them both upside the head and called them stupid idiots.

Hermione had seemed equally upset, upsetting Harry further, and he’d tried to apologize, but his words had only seemed to make her more upset. Luna had finally stepped in, taking both girls in hand and informing anyone who cared to listen that they were going to go take a nice long soak in the prefects bath. Harry and Neville had shared a look after the departing girls, shaking their heads and muttering unanimously, “Girls.”

 Still, things weren’t… well, they were never really perfect before, but… things didn’t seem to be going along as easily as before, either. Not that they really had a chance to settle into much of a routine, per say, but… Everything was just tense, stressed, and it was affecting him and the pard. His family. His pack.

 It was messed up, and he wasn’t sure how to make it better. Things had changed, and he wasn’t sure how to smooth it all out again. One thing was the sleeping arrangements. Since Sunday, Neville, Luna, and Hannah were sleeping with him and Hermione in the head suite…which was a lot more harmless and innocent than it would have been before Hogsmeade. Other than some snuggling, he hadn’t done much of anything with his pard, choosing to simply hold them close and breathe in their scents.

 The girls retired to Hermione’s room at night, and Neville went with Harry to his bed. And they slept. Often times, they’d sleep until another nightmarish vision woke Harry up, and then Neville would soothe him until they both could fall back asleep. They’d discussed some more of Harry’s special abilities and transformations, but there really wasn’t more research to study about what he was. They would just have to discover it for themselves as time passed. Neville shared more about his own abilities and what he knew of the different magical beings that had supposedly intermixed with the pureblooded families. Mostly, he would just talk about anything and everything that came to mind until Harry was lulled back to sleep. Harry had always enjoyed listening to the stories Neville would tell—stories of growing up in the wizarding world, wizarding children’s stories, and other simple odds and ends he’d been denied the opportunity of experiencing.

 But sometimes… sometimes he just wasn’t able to shut his mind off and listen to Neville. Sometimes the images he saw screamed through his skull, pressing at the back of his eyes. Times like tonight, when the faces he was forced to watch being tortured and abused were faces he knew—classmates and shop clerks from Hogsmeade.

The only thing that comforted Harry even a little was the fact that Ginny wasn't among them again tonight.  He wasn't sure if that was really better, but he could at least pretend.  He didn’t know what he would do if he finally saw his best friend’s baby sister in one of those rooms, tied down and being used by those monsters.

 “I’m sorry, Neville.”

 “Me, too,” the nymph sighed. “I keep thinking I should have been able to do something more—“

 “You were able to do something,” Harry reminded him, turning around in his arms to stare intently at the other teen. “That’s more than me. At least you were there. You helped protect people, Neville. You did something, which is more than any of the aurors or most of the others who just ran away.”

He pressed their foreheads together. “But it doesn’t feel like enough. I get it,” Harry confessed. “Now you understand how I feel most of the time. I’m sorry.”

 “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. You’re always doing so much for us all, it’s about time more of us step forward and took on the weight.”

 “I wish you didn’t have to.”

 “Me, too. I mean, I wish you didn’t have to, either, but…”

 “Yeah, but…” Harry sighed. “You know they’re… they’re raping them, right?” Neville grunted. “He’s making them keep drugged up. Hannah once said that our magic wouldn’t allow us to be raped, but… that’s what’s happening. He’s… he’s breeding an army, is what he’s doing.”

 “It shouldn’t be possible,” Neville mumbled. “Everyone knows that a person’s magic will protect them or else turn on them. It’s why you won’t usually hear anything about it or what have you. The instigator is almost always assigned a one-way ticket to Azkaban.”

“What about love potions?”

 “What about them?”

 “Well, couldn’t love potions be considered something like… like a rape drug?” Harry asked. “I mean, if they make you believe you’re really in love with a person and you go and do those things…. But then afterwards, after you’re off the drug…?”

 “I don’t know. Potions aren’t my forte,” Neville pointed out wryly.

 “I’d ask Hermione, but I don’t really want her thinking about what’s happening to others.”

 “You could always ask Snape. I mean, he is a potions master.”

 Harry snorted. “I don’t think I want to go there just yet.” He sighed. “Still, maybe.”   He closed his eyes and leaned into Neville’s chest, allowing their legs to tangle naturally. It was a bit annoying that even with his recent growth spurt Neville was still taller and broader than him, but whatever. At least he wasn’t as scrawny as he used to be. Then again, neither was Neville, he thought bemusedly as he stroked along the well-defined muscles of the other boy’s arms… and thighs. Mustn’t forget about those thighs. All that time squatting over plants in the green houses, no doubt. Carrying soil and pots and wrangling wayward plants and…

 Neville shifted, shoving his rear purposefully into Harry’s lazily stroking palm. He contorted enough to nip lightly at Harry’s shoulder before whispering near his ear, “If that’s a question, the answer’s a most definite yes.”

 “Hmm?”

 “You haven’t really fed all week,” Neville murmured, rolling Harry back and climbing on top. “It’s not fair, you know, to any of us. We need your affections as much as you need us.”

 “Are you saying I’ve been a bad Vanteerian, ignoring you?” Harry teased, reaching down to pull at Neville’s awakened cock as it pointed out towards his belly. His own semi-hard penis swelled rapidly in interest. It had been nearly a week since he’d been with one of his lovers sexually. It just hadn’t seemed right.

 “Mmm, very bed, I mean, bad,” Neville mused, luxuriating in the feel of the hand on his cock, stroking it with delicious pressure, squeezing just right.

 “You wanna come like this or you want me to fill you up?” Harry asked, already guessing how the other would respond and eagerly looking forward to it.

 “Oh, gods, fill me,” Neville panted. “Fuck me and come in me.”

 “You really like that, don’t you?” Harry asked, his breathing already quickening with excitement as he reached out blindly with one hand for the lubricant he now kept in strategic spots throughout the head boy’s suite. Conjured lube was good in a pinch, but blessed be to Hermione who had actually located a sex magic manual that included a very nice recipe for personal lubricant. The girls actually went through more of the stuff than Harry would have thought, considering they were girls and all and were supposedly able to make their own slick, but, hey! He wasn’t going to complain!

 The little bottle smacked into his open palm while Neville continued to writhe against him, begging to be filled and fucked. The seemingly shy and sweet Gryffindor boy had a real nasty streak when you got him horny, he mused, slicking up his fingers and reaching around to get at his hole, reveling in the way Neville practically came undone above him.

 “Ngh, so good, Harry. Fuck, stretch me, more, don’t tease. Uh, good, so good, Harry, gods, yeah, open me up for you. Not too much, Harry. I wanna feel it when you fuck me open. Wanna feel you push your cock inside of me, fuck me open around your cock. Yeah, gods, that sounds so good. Can’t wait anymore, Harry. Need you inside me. Please, please, fuck me? I need to feel your cock filling me up, Harry.”

“Fuck,” Harry hissed, pushing Neville onto his back and yanking his legs up over his shoulders.

 “Yes, yes, please, gods, please, fill me, Harry. Fuck me open around your cock.”

 “Shit, Neville, I swear to gods, if you keep saying shit like that I’m gonna come.”

 “Want you to come. Want you to fill me up with your cum.”

 “Oh, I’m gonna alright,” he promised, lining himself up before sinking in deeply, as far as he could into that tight hot grip that squeezed his dick, swallowing him whole, all the way to his balls.

 Their groans melded together in a chorus of staccato breaths and gasps, small whimpers and pleas that swelled around them into a final crescendo.   Hot and sticky, they panted into each other’s bodies, holding on tightly for several minutes. Harry finally pulled back, lethargically rolling onto his back and watching lazily as Neville ran a hand over his cum-smeared belly.

“January.”

 “Hmm?”

 “I should go into my next fertile time sometime in January,” Neville whispered. “It seems pretty far away, but I suppose it’s for the best. I mean, I’d be showing, but at least I’d be able to take most of my NEWTS.”

 “Showing? You mean…” Harry asked, sitting up again in the bed, staring down at Neville wonderingly.

 “Well, I mean, you would have to, you know, participate, of course,” he said, somewhat shyly. “Only thing is, as a male, I wouldn’t be able to spell a postponement like the girls. So, I mean, if you do knock me up in January, I’ll be delivering in the summer sometime.”

Harry groaned, falling back against the pillows. “I can’t decide if that’s really hot or really creepy.”

 “Err…”

 “Oh, pooh,” a third voice interrupted them both. “You’ve both already had your fun.”

 “Luna!” Harry startled, sitting back up. “What are you doing here?”

 “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep,” the blonde announced. “I suspected you’d be breaking your fast sometime today, so I thought I’d come check if it was time, yet, but apparently I missed out,” she continued, climbing up into bed, crawling over Harry to snuggle in between them. Then she noticed Neville’s hand. “Oh, goodie! You left some for me!”

 Neville groaned as she took his hand to her lips and deftly cleaned his fingers of lingering cum. Then, as if that wasn’t enough for her, she scooted down so she could lap up the remnants along his belly, snuggling in close when she was done.

 “Uh, Luna, you staying?” Harry asked, half amused, half bemused as he watched Neville’s breath shallow out.

 “Mm, yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

 “No, no minding,” Neville murmured, causing to Harry to grin. He reached down and pulled the girl up so she could lay sandwiched between them properly.

 “Besides, there’s always morning sex,” she reminded them sleepily, snuggling between them happily.

Neville and Harry shared a look over her head. Morning wasn’t that far off.

 

* * *

 

Luna got her morning sex, and she and both boys were very happy for it, although Hannah seemed a bit perturbed to have missed out. Hermione had called them all crazed nymphos before Harry dragged her off into the shower with him and gave her a good morning wake-up call. She was much more relaxed the rest of the day. In fact, the entire pard was more relaxed for their sexual escapades, although the rest of the school was still caught under a cloud of depression. But there wasn’t anything anyone could really do. No one knew where the kidnapped wizards and witches had been taken—at least no one who was talking. Although Harry knew they were spread out amongst several houses, he didn’t know where those houses were, so it wasn’t like he could help. It was all very frustrating.

 Frustration that ran like an itch right under his skin that he just couldn’t seem to scratch. That irritation followed him all morning, throughout his classes. Thankfully, it was Friday again, and he had the rest of the afternoon free from classes after lunch. There wasn’t all that much homework to take care of, either, and so after the noon meal, they retreated to the head chambers while Hermione took off to her remaining classes of the week.

“Do it again,” Hannah demanded once they were safely ensconced behind closed doors.

 “Why?” Harry protested, dropping his bag off in a corner of the room near the study table.

 “Because I asked you to?” Hannah replied, batting her eyelashes outrageously.

 “I feel funny doing it,” he protested.

 “But you’re so cute with your tail and ears! Please, Harry? I promise not to conjure any toy mice again.”

 He huffed and puffed, but after shrugging out of his robes, he agreeably pulled his magic up and out of his skin, allowing his body to change shape. He was still humanoid, but definitely feline, too. “Satisfied?” he growled.

 “What about the wings?”

 He shot her an exasperated looked, but after a moment, dutifully called forth his wings. Hannah murmured appreciatively, coming up and caressing one large black wing.

 “And you said they carried you?” she asked, for about the hundredth time this week. “All the way to Hogsmeade?”   He didn’t bother to answer—whether because he already had several times before or because he was caught up in just how nice it felt to have her soft fingers caressing over this new body part of his... Mmm, very nice indeed.

 “My, how strong you must be,” Hannah murmured, pressing herself flush against his front while still touching his wings. “I have to confess, it’s rather hot,” she breathed against his lips.

 How could he resist?   He couldn’t. Soon enough he was kissing her, mapping out her mouth with his tongue, scraping sharp canine teeth against her lip before nibbling down along her jaw and towards her throat.

 “Mmm, really kinda hot,” she murmured, surging against him.

 “You’re the hot one, rubbing yourself against me so wantonly. Making me hard for you.”

 “Mmm, good. We can put that to use,” she confessed grabbing his hand and shoving it under her skirt against her panties so he could feel how wet she was.

 “Are you two seriously going to have sex right now” Neville spoke up, breaking into their moment. “Because, I mean, if you want us to leave…”

 “Speak for yourself,” Luna shushed him. “This I want to see.”

 Hannah blushed, biting her lip before admitting, “I don’t mind. I mean, it’s not like we haven’t all done stuff together in the same room before, right?”

 “Right!” Luna chirped encouragingly. “Besides, I’m curious as to how much like a real feline he is in this form.”

 “What do you mean?” Neville whispered while Hannah redirected Harry’s focus back on her.

 “Most felines have barbs on their penis that help stimulate a female’s ovulation. I know Hermione said she remembered a lot of pain from their first transformed coupling, but she really wasn't very forthcoming with much more. If we could watch this time, then we could check and see for ourselves.”

 “It sounds painful.”

 “Mmm,” Luna barely responded, paying more attention to the couple that was getting hot and heavy directly in front of them. “Besides, I really don’t think I could have waited till tonight for another go. Could you?”

 Hannah’s skirt was bunched around her waist as Harry’s hand worked furiously between her legs. Somehow he’d managed to undo her blouse without loosening her tie, and his face was buried against her chest, sucking on one of her breasts through the material of her bra. Hannah was happily coming undone.

 With a growl, Harry tore away from her, reaching down to shred the scrap of material covering her sex. Another growl saw her blouse being ripped off before he pushed her down over the arm of the sofa. Leaning down low, he buried his face against her nether lips and licked, lapping up the creamy juices she was leaking profusely. Ignoring her crying moans, he withdrew, far enough to shed his trousers and pants as he continued at his task, cleaning her sopping pussy.

 And then he stepped up right behind her, aligning his cock with her still glistening opening before shoving himself in. She cried out, sharp and piercing, body arching—although to get away or to get nearer, it wasn’t immediately discernable. It took only a handful of thrusts until he was growling low and menacingly before finally satisfied. Hannah seemed able to do little more than lie there, face smashed into the cushion, whimpering as he continued to thrust, deeper and deeper.

 And then she wailed.

"Oh my gods,” Luna breathed, grasping for Neville. “He’s breeding her.”

 “What?”

 “He’s breeding her. Look at him!” “

 As if Neville could look at anything else.

 Harry had yanked Hannah back up against his chest, one hand wrapped securely around her chest and arms as she clung to him, the other pressed possessively over her stomach as he continued to rock into her. Neville wasn’t sure if he really saw it or imagined it, but it certainly looked like Harry’s hand was moving every time he thrusted into her—as if he was pushing at his hand from the inside.   Neville moaned, his own balls tightening at idea of it.

Was Harry really, truly breeding her? Right there, in front of them? Fucking her so deeply, he was going to knock her up? He almost whimpered in jealousy at the thought. .

“Mmm,” Luna moaned beside him, and he spared a glance to realize her hand was buried under her own skirt and moving rapidly.

Meanwhile, Harry was lost. Already the penial spine had descended, firmly opening up her cervix to properly receive his seed. The telltale tingling along his shaft instinctively alerted him to the fact he would be coming soon. As if the boiling in his balls wasn’t enough of a warning. He pushed her down onto the sofa and held her there while his balls emptied.

 His world narrowed, unaware of everything except the female in front of him, breathing heavily and with satisfaction as she lie pliant, receiving his seed.

 Off to the side, he heard more heavy breathing, but a quick look reassured him that it was only other mates, recovering from their own spendings. They were not to be worried about now. Now, in this moment, his focus was meant solely for the female before him. His mate. His second mate, he thought languidly. He frowned at the various red marks covering her pale skin, not sure how exactly she had gotten some of the would-be bruises. With gentle hands, he stroked along her reddened skin, calling his magic up to sooth away the hurts, and only when he was satisfied, did he lift her up and cradle her to him, cupping her mons and feed his magic up into her womb even while he still remained locked inside of her passage.

 She stirred against him, moaning and whimpering with tiny hurts. “Oh, gods, that was intense,” Hannah breathed. “Almost too intense. Almost.”

 “Stunning,” Luna gasped. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

 “Bit painful, too,” Hannah admitted, blinking around at the her surroundings. “How did the sofa cushion get all the way other there?” she asked.

 “You threw it,” Neville supplied. “Right after Harry grabbed your hair and shoved your face into the sofa.”

 “Oh.” She blinked. “We should probably clean up before Hermione gets back, huh?”

 Harry growled. “Not finish.” Pulling her hair and forcing her head back, he took her mouth with his, shoving his tongue down her throat until she almost choked.

 “Wha—Harry!”

 “I do believe you’re dealing with the Vanteerian now,” Luna helpfully supplied. “And he seems to be in a breeding mood.”

 “Wha—really?” Hannah gasped. “Now?”

 “Yes, now.”

Harry's hips began gyrating against hers, his cock sliding back and forth inside her already abused pussy. Her legs scrambled about the sofa, seeking purchase as his arm latched around her waist once more.  The sound of skin slapping harshly against skin filled the common room.

 “Oh, hell,” Neville breathed, whimpering as his poor cock attempted to fill once again.  Luna reached over and gave him a hand… before plopping herself right in his lap, and he discovered that at some point, she too had discarded her pants. He moaned, letting her bounce agitatedly in his lap while they continued to watch transfixed the pair on the sofa.

 Hannah, normally a wildcat in bed, was laying there almost placidly as Harry continued to pound into her, her body arched beautifully in acceptance. It seemed like a small eternity before Harry growled out another completion, holding himself firmly against her core as he released.

 It was easily the hottest thing Neville had ever seen, and with Luna riding his cock like a mad woman determined to come, there was no way he wasn’t finding his own release.

And to think, Hermione wasn’t due back until right before dinner time.

 

* * *

 

 Hermione was more than just a little disgusted with the four of them. She had returned to the head suite to see if they wanted to head down to dinner together… to discover the lot of them shagging like rabbits. And she did mean the four of them.

 She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about all that. She had been coming to terms with the reality of Harry and Neville together, like that, although she’d yet to actually witness them in the act… but she’d never even considered Luna and Hannah like that, together.

 Now, it was all she could seem to think about thanks to walking in on the scene of debauchery earlier. She had left almost immediately after her brain had processed what it was she was seeing. She had high-tailed it down to dinner without them—and none of them had bothered to show up, not that she was overly surprised. And then she had taken herself to the library. She wasn’t sure she was ready to go back to her rooms. Wasn’t sure she would ever be ready to go back to her rooms.

 She wasn’t… naïve. She knew that men had sex together and that women, too, had sex together. She had just never expected to see a living example of such. Never expected to be so closely involved. And she was involved. Or at least, she suspected she would be. But she wasn’t too sure she wanted to be. It was nothing against Luna or Hannah or Neville, or even Harry. It was just… this was never anything she had ever considered for herself. But then again, when she was little, neither had being a witch. But she was, and she’d adapted, zealously so. But sex…

Sex wasn’t like academia. She just wasn’t sure, and she felt poorly for being the odd man out. Once again, Hermione was the one who didn’t fit in.

 She wasn’t gay—had never had thoughts of touching another girl sexually. She’d barely had thoughts of a sexual nature about boys. Whenever she masturbated—because, yes, she did masturbate, thank you very much—she’d always had faceless partners, non-gendered, sexless. Sure, she’d had some school girl fantasies about Ron before. And there had been Viktor. And Cedric. And Anthony. And… a few others, she admitted to herself. But they had all be minor, passing crushes. Really, most had more to do with her admiring their intellect rather than anything sexual.

 She didn’t think there was anything wrong with her. After all, she was able to respond to Harry, quite often and willingly. But could she extend that response to Neville? Or Hannah? Or Luna? She wasn’t sure.

 Closing the book she’d been pretending to read for the last half hour, Hermione took a deep fortifying breath and determined to stop hiding.

 Everything they had discovered about Vanteerians said that not only were they intensely sexual beings, but they were also deeply devoted to their family—their pard—which meant the others weren’t going anywhere for a long, long time. Hopefully. And neither would she, so she’d just have to grasp the lion by the tail and deal with her fears of intimacy. She could do this. She could.

 She never noticed liquid dark eyes following her departure.

  

* * *

 

Still to come....

*Samhain


	20. Turning of the Wheel - Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione pushes at her personal comfort boundaries and the students celebrate Halloween.

~THEN~

She didn’t think there was anything wrong with her. After all, she was able to respond to Harry, quite often and willingly. But could she extend that response to Neville? Or Hannah? Or Luna? She wasn’t sure.

Closing the book she’d been pretending to read for the last half hour, Hermione took a deep fortifying breath and determined to stop hiding.

Everything they had discovered about Vanteerians said that not only were they intensely sexual beings, but they were also deeply devoted to their family—their pard—which meant the others weren’t going anywhere for a long, long time. Hopefully. And neither would she, so she’d just have to grasp the lion by the tail and deal with her fears of intimacy. She could do this. She could.

~NOW~  
-Friday, October 24, Head Suite -

It was still several hours before curfew—hours earlier than she would normally leave the library, but still later than she had honestly intended. She only hesitated briefly outside the portrait guarding the Head boy and girls’ suite—taking a moment to converse with the young couple—a former head boy and girl from centuries ago, Illiona Briarwood and her future husband, Percival Pritchard. It was a long standing rumor that head boys and head girls were destined to marry one another. Not that it happened all the time, but obviously often enough. Harry’s parents were head boy and girl of their year, she remembered. And now she and Harry were their class’s heads.

Not that that meant they were going to get married. Just because they were in a relationship of sorts…

“Vanteerian pardum domum,” Hermione told the pair resolutely, determined not to waste any more time. The portrait swung open easily, and Hermione stepped into the common area beyond.

She wasn’t sure what exactly she had expected, but the room was in quite a disarray. Pillows from the couch were thrown about; the afghans from the sofa and chair were on the floor. One of the dining chairs was listing to one side, and the table looked ready to collapse under the combined weight of Neville and Harry… or maybe it was the enthusiastic actions of the pair that threatened to topple the table. Behind her, the portrait closed with a soft snitch, but Hermione was rooted to the spot, unable to turn away from the sight of the two boys she’d practically grown up with.

She’d known, of course, for several weeks now, that Harry and Neville were intimate. It wasn’t a secret among any of them. Just as she knew Neville was also intimate with Luna and Hannah. But knowing and seeing…

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” a gentle voice broke her from their ensnaring visage. Looking back over towards the sofa, it took her a moment before Hermione realized the afghans weren’t just haphazardly tossed to the floor, but rather were balled over and around Luna, who, from what Hermione could see was quite probably still naked.

“Where’s Hannah?” Hermione asked, braving to step further into the room, not quite able to keep her eyes from flitting glances back at the furiously rocking table.

Luna stretched and purred—pale limbs poking out from under the thick blanket before tucking back away. “Harry took her into the bedroom some time ago. Didn’t much like Neville or me giving her any attention right now, I suppose.”

“What? But why? You’re always very—well, what I mean to say is—“

Luna smiled up at the seventh year girl. “I’m fairly sure Harry’s cat is actively breeding her.”

“Actively breeding her?” Hermione repeated dubiously. “As opposed to passively?”

“No,” Luna smiled serenely, almost lazily. “I believe Hannah’s in her fertile time right now, unlike Neville or me. He’s been rather more aggressive when with her then when he’s coupling with Neville or me. I think we have more proof of Harry’s creature inheritance.”

“I don’t think we really need much more proof, do you?” Hermione huffed, eyes flickering back over to the pair across the way. “We’ve all seen him turn into a big black panther with wings. Multiple times now.”

“When he changed, the first time, you were having sex. Did you notice anything strange?”

Hermione colored a bright scarlet. “You mean, strange, other than my boyfriend growing fur and wings?” she asked incredulously.

“Mmm. Male cats have barbs on their penis,” Luna explained. “It’s to help stimulate the female’s reproductive system. The several times Harry was with Hannah, before he took her into the bedroom, he didn’t withdraw from her right away. It was like he couldn’t. But I think it must only happen when he’s actively breeding, because it didn’t happen when he was with me or Neville.”

“But if he’s breeding Hannah, why are he and Neville—“’ she glanced back at the table, once again stunned by the image of the two boys moving against one another, Harry more savagely so as Neville scrabbled at the table beneath him but no less enthusiastic.

“She needs rest breaks, too,” Luna interrupted. “I think it’s a chance for Harry’s magic to work. I’ve noticed after each coupling, he cradles her close and released almost visual wisps of magic that seem to sink into her, especially around her fanny.”

Hermione looked back at her, not sure if she was more stunned, shocked, or surprised by this information. Where to start? “Almost visual?” she decided, skipping over how strange it was to hear Luna use the term “fanny”.

“Mmhmm. Neville sensed it, too. He was definitely using magic. I think it’s because of the barbs, but I’m not sure if there’s something else”

“Barbs?” Hermione repeated, aghast.

“Yes, just like a cat. I’d wondered, of course. After all, vanteerians are winged cats, so it would make sense. And you did say your coupling with Harry last week was rather painful.”

“Yes. So much so, I actually blacked out. But when I woke up, I was better. Like it had never happened. Well, I mean, besides the obvious after effects.”

“Yes, so, I thought, what if that’s Harry’s magic healing us, just like the first time he had sex with you and Hannah. You were both hurt, and so he healed you afterwards. I’m thinking that might be a natural ability for a vanteerian, to be able to heal their mates. Regular cats have barbs on their penis, so I wondered if Harry might, too, when he’s in his half form or full on cat. You said he changed when you were together that night, and then it hurt.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, blushing furiously. “Worse than anything I can remember.”

“I think that might have been because of the spines, but I’m not sure if they only come out when he’s coupling in Halfling form or only when he’s breeding,” Luna concluded with a moue. “Hannah asked Harry to transform again before they got started on their sexy times—“

“Wait, she asked him to change? Again?” Hermione asked exasperatedly. How many ties was the Hufflepuff girl going to ask Harry to do that? It had been nearly twice every day this week!

“Yes, and of course, he did,” Luna confirmed, “But then, well, you know how it is. One thing led to another, and then next thing you know, Hannah’s face down over the arm of the chair with Harry’s penis filling her.”

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. She didn’t understand how Luna could say such things so… calmly and nonchalantly. Instead of focusing on the enigma that was Luna Lovegood—an activity that was sure to give her a headache—she turned her attention to the mystery Luna had presented her with, instead. And once again, it had to do with Harry.

Dropping her school bag to the floor near the door, Hermione continued into the room, steadfastly ignoring the pair still enthusiastically going at it on the kitchenette table—would she ever be able to eat at that table again?—and settled onto the sofa closer to Luna. The blonde girl reached out a hand, brushing her fingers along Hermione’s calf, before retreating back under her blankets. She was somewhat surprised at the caress—after all, Hermione still wasn’t used to all the casual touches the others seemed content to share—but she was also saddened that Luna had retreated so quickly. Was she scared that Hermione might yell at her? She didn’t want that. Yes, she was still uncomfortable with all the casual intimacy of the others—still flummoxed by how quickly Harry seemed to take to it all. She could still remember how surprised and shy he used to be when she would spontaneously hug him when they were younger, but hugging and… and… caressing… those were two different actions!—but she had returned here tonight determined to at least try.

“Hermione?” Luna called gently.

“I—“

A guttural groan emanating from the boys distracted her, and she looked over once again, watching transfixed. Harry’s soft, furry wings were arched up and back, his head thrown back as his body tensed, his long black tail whipping behind him, but other than those very obvious signs, he was still they Harry she knew and loved, still human looking. One hand possessively griped Neville’s hip, the other pressed firmly down on his shoulder blades, keeping him in place. As she watched, he stepped back, his hand running up over Neville’s neck and into his hair, gripping and pulling the nymph up into a vertical position. Harry drew his head back until he could reach Neville’s mouth.

He pulled back a moment later, with the promise of “Soon,” ghosting over Neville’s lips before he stepped back again, withdrawing completely, releasing Neville’s body and turning back to the head boy’s chambers. He spared a look towards Hermione and Luna, nodding at the two, but not stopping until the bed chamber’s door was shut resolutely behind him. Hermione could feel a flare of magic go up a moment later.

The heat of the look, the wash of magic, the sheer electricity charging the air, left Hermione shivering. She wasn’t scared. Far from it. No, this was the promise of anticipation sweetening on her tongue. Once again, fingers ghosted along her calf, up and down, drawing her attention back to the girl on the floor.

“Would you like to cuddle?” Luna offered.

Hermione hesitated, torn. “I’m still not comfortable.”

“It’s always scary to try new things, to think in new ways, but we will never force you to do anything, Hermione.”

“I know. I—thank you, yes. I think I would like to cuddle little bit.”

Luna, smiling, held up the end of the blanket for Hermione, who resolutely tried to ignore the fact that the other girl was completely naked. Which was annoying, she thought, as she remembered the many times she'd been naked with the other girl in the prefect's bath. She slipped to the ground, kicking off her sandals, but otherwise remaining dressed. She slid up under the blanket, shifting and rearranging herself until she lay, ramrod stiff, facing away from the other girl. Luna lowered the blanket over them both. And snuggled up behind her.

It only took a few, tense minutes for the warmth of the fire and blanket to start getting to her, and Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

“Would you like to take your blazer off?” Luna asked solicitously.

“I—yes, please.” She sat up and quickly unfastened her school blazer, slipping out of the heavy winter material and tossing it onto the sofa. She laid back down in her skirt, blouse and stockings, much more comfortable. One again, Luna cuddled up behind her, and Hermione focused on relaxing, accepting the closeness and comfort of the other girl. There was nothing sexual or threatening about this. She was safe. She was welcomed. She belonged.

“Have room for one more?” a raspy voice cut into her internal thoughts. She started, blinking up to see a very naked Neville, looking back at them from where he was still sprawled across the table. He shifted and winced, slowly pushing himself up off the table and stretching.

“Of course,” Luna replied swiftly, burrowing closer to Hermione’s back.

The muscular—and did she mention naked?—boy—no, young man. Neville was definitely not a boy anymore. Hermione blushed and averted her eyes-- stood up and then stumbled over to where the two girls were, near the sofa, before the fireplace. He dropped to the floor before them, shuffling closer, as if unsure of his welcome. He searched Hermione’s face, even as Luna held up the blanket in invitation once more. Hermione wasn’t sure if Neville found whatever it was he was looking for, but a he must have, because a moment later, he had plopped down and shuffled up in front of her, effectively sandwiching her in.

Hermione stared at the stretch of flesh before her nose—a slice of shoulders and neck that definitely didn’t belong to a boy. There was no denying Neville was growing up into a fine specimen. Although she frowned, noting the redness of fresh bruises littering his skin. He hadn’t complained, but Hermione worried that Harry had hurt him during their… shared time—she wasn’t really ready to use the silly term Hannah and Luna seemed to enjoy using. “Sexy time”, indeed.

She wiggled a hand free and reached up, smoothing her fingers over the angry red splotches liberally covering Neville’s skin. Neville shivered, full body tingles as small flickers of electricity seemed to spark from where Hermione’s fingers soothed over his skin. He wiggled closer, firmly pressing his bum up against her pelvis, effectively distracting her. ‘’M okay,” he murmured sleepily. “Harry won’t hurt us more than we can handle. His creature won’t let him. We’re safe. It’s good.”

“Just relax,” Luna added, cajoling from her other side. “Sleep.”

And amazingly enough, Hermione did just that.

*****

The next day saw Harry out on the quidditch pitch to help monitor the six new would-be junior teams’ try-outs and practice. The three other house quidditch team captains were also there to lend their support (and check out the would-be competition and/or potential reserve players for their teams). Much to Harry’s approval, most of the team captains had come to him, willing to take on players from different houses. Of course, some of the players weren’t as willing, or they rather play with just their friends and house mates as opposed to potentially making new friends. This is why Harry and the other captains were here today, monitoring things.

Really, his mind was back in his chambers with his pard. He hated having to leave them this morning. Hannah had been absolutely exhausted and refused to leave bed. Luna, Neville, and Hermione, Harry had found still on the floor where he vaguely remembered seeing them last night. He struggled with the mixed feelings that tore at him even now, remembering the sight of them.

He had been annoyed—annoyed that they were on the cold floor, even if they were near the fire, and not in a warm, cozy bed. And then he’d been semi-annoyed at the thought of Neville being in Hermione’s bed, because obviously they couldn’t be in his bed. That’s where Hannah was currently. But that was ridiculous.

And he’d felt pleased, yes, very pleased, upon seeing the three of them curled up together. Pleased at seeing his family, his pard, together. Pleased at seeing Neville and Luna curled protectively around Hermione. Pleased at seeing Hermione reaching out to the other two, even if only in sleep.

He’d felt longing, to join them; annoyance at the reminder of needing to leave them. He’d felt peace, the knowledge that his family was safe and here with him. He’d felt protective, wanting to do everything and anything possible to ensure that they always remained so.

He had used his magic to scoop up the still sleeping trio and levitate them into Hermione’s bedchambers. She might not be overly pleased at the invasion—he still felt a niggling of annoyance thinking of anyone other than him in her bed, but the desire to see them all together and comfortable won out. Sleeping on the floor was definitely not comfortable. He unfortunately knew from experience. He tucked them in under the thick comforter, used more magic to start the fire up—it was October and it got bitterly chilly in the stone castle—and then he left them to the rest of their lay-in.

Harry had checked once more on Hannah—debating only a minute before moving her to also join the others. Hermione was likely to be sorely annoyed with him when he returned, having so many persons invading her personal chambers, but it was simply easier to move Hannah now as opposed to move Hermione, Luna, and Neville. Better to beg for forgiveness, right?

He had left the four pard members, curled on up in each other, and then headed down to the kitchens to grab a quick bite to eat. Then he’d come out here to the quidditch pitch, using his free time before any others arrived to fly his heart out, with his broom. He desperately wanted to try out his wings some, see what they could do, but he didn’t dare risk it when he knew he wouldn’t be alone for long. And he was right. He was only out on the pitch for maybe ten-fifteen minutes before others started straggling in.

It had been a good turnout. A lot of the kids—first through fourth years—were excited at the chance to play quidditch, of course. Some of them were truly awful, if enthusiastic, but others had the potential to be decent players, with a bit of practice. All of them had been excited, and that was the real point of this endeavor—to include more of the school, to promote more unity throughout the school, not just the houses, to build up more social and fun activities for the entire student body.

Harry was glad the teachers were being so supportive of his and Hermione’s plans—some of the elective teachers had even offered to sponsor the extra quidditch teams—and he was super excited for their plans for Halloween. Halloween was a time of very mixed emotions for him, but with he honestly believed that with all the planning and help Hermione and he had put in to this year’s celebration, no matter what Voldemort did, it was going to be a good year’s turning.

****

Spirits rose once more over the course of the next week as the student body knew their head boy and girl, along with their prefects were planning something special for All Hallow’s Eve. Even the professors seems to sparking and twinkle with inner amusement. The only pallor and dimmer to the upcoming event were the glimpses of black and yellow arm bands that were still being supported. Sadly, even the absences of their friends and family became familiar.

Harry himself was quite excited for the coming weekend celebrations, and he kept pestering Hermione about this and that—little details that she had, of course, already ensured someone was handling. Harry thought Hermione and her check lists were brilliant, and told her so many times throughout the week, even forcibly stopping her once or twice to plant a kiss on her lips.

Hogwarts, as a whole, were now firmly convinced—as if they weren’t before—that their head boy and girl was a solid couple.

Thursday night, as the dinner hour wound down, Dumbledore stood and signaled for attention, raising his hand and clearing his throat, looking out amongst the throng of excitable teens and preteens. Conversations around the hall quickly puttered into silence as all faces turned towards the front.

“Yes, thank you,” the headmaster started graciously, smiling out at all the curious faces. “As many of you know, your head boy and head girl, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, along with your prefects and several members of staff,” he turned his smile towards the professors sitting to either side of him before looking back out over the students, “have been working very hard to assemble a Halloween festival that all might enjoy. Our celebrations will start tomorrow, shortly before sundown and continue throughout the weekend. A list of activities has been posted in each of your common rooms. If you have any clarifying questions, please seek out a prefect. Thank you.”

Dumbledore hadn’t even sat yet before the Great Hall came alive with excited chatter. Harry shared a rather mischievous grin with his friends, bumping shoulders with Ron as the redhead reached for another pudding.

“Well, there’s no denying there’s a little something for everyone, is it?” Ron asked before promptly shoving the piece of bread pudding into his mouth.

“I do hope we’ve covered everything,” Hermione fretted.

“I’m sure we have,” Harry soothed, still grinning. “There’s enough for everyone to do something, and we pulled ideas from just about everyone.”

“I don’t know. Some of the activities were a little, well, kiddish, don’t you think?” Ron mumbled.

“All the more fun,” Harry insisted before turning back to Hermione. “Come on, dinner’s over. You wanted to head up to the library and check out a book for charms, right?” And with that, he had successfully distracted her from her fretting. Shooting a questioning glance towards Hannah and Luna saw Neville standing to collect their two non-house mates while Harry continued to follow Hermione’s lead up to the library, dragging Ron along with him—once again oblivious to the eyes that followed him.

****

Friday morning, the Great Hall was alive with more than just the normal Halloween excitement. Everyone had flooded the post board in the common rooms the night before, looking over the promised list of activities. This morning, there was more excited talk as the children inspected the alter that had been set up outside the Great Hall and the multiple piles of pumpkins. After breakfast was over, house elves would be on hand to help anyone without a first period who wanted to try their hand at carving faces or designs into the large orange squash. By lunchtime, there was a mini-challenge of who could carve the scariest or funniest pumpkin. The house elves were happily collecting pumpkin guts and seeds, leaving cleaned out gourds for the students to work with.

As planned, once the tables had been cleared of lunch, the house elves went to work again, helping to monitor several different stations of confectionary mayhem. There were apples being coated in caramel, colored sugar being spun into different shapes and designs, shaped cookies and plain graham houses being decorated with globs of icing and candy pieces. At other areas, students were carefully mixing melted marshmallows into puffed rice and popcorn to make more goodies.

By half past four, night was beginning to fall and the remaining stranglers had left their classrooms and made their way down to the Great Hall for the early dinner. Normally, the Halloween Feast wouldn’t be held until six, normal dinner hour, but Harry and Hermione had requested for the dinner service to be served earlier today, with a more simple fare that would allow them to start their celebrations sooner. For the muggle born, they had never heard of, let alone celebrated, a Samhain ritual before. For the more traditional families, they were anxious to see how such rituals would be handled. For everyone else, they were simply excited for something new and fun.

Once everyone was in their seats and waiting impatiently for the food to appear, Professor Dumbledore stood and spoke out. “Our ancestors believed the year was divided into two parts, the lighter half in the summer and the darker half in the winter. Samhain was the division between these halves – the end of the Harvest, and the time when the veil between our world of the living and the world of the dead was at its thinnest. Today is Halloween and tomorrow is the Day of the Dead, or All Saints Day, when those who have passed away are remembered. I trust you have enjoyed the activities your head boy and head girl, along with your prefects, helped to organize for you today, and will continue to respectfully participate in the rituals and festivities still to come. Professor Sprout, if you please?”

He sat, and the freshly scrubbed Herbology professor stood, beaming out at all of them. “Blessed Be! loved ones and friends,” she called out strongly, her voice reaching to the farthest ends of the hall. “Another year's upon us as the wheel has turned again. We invite the ancestors one by one to join us at our meal. We raise our cups in honor and share memories with zeal. We share a harvest's bounty and know deep in our hearts the past must be cleansed away for the future to start. The veil is at its thinnest. We walk between the worlds. Diviners bring their instruments, and mysteries become unfurled, and now the witching hour is upon us once again. We share a blessed circle with our loved ones and our friends. Blessed Be to Guardians, to deities and more still; Blessed Be To You, Let The Harvest Your Heart Fill.”

She sat and great platters of chicken and pheasants and pork chops popped up in between the sugary treats the students had spent hours making that afternoon. Bowls of buttery squash and boiled Brussel sprouts and other dishes filled in the space between. Above them, their carved pumpkins danced merrily through the air. Several empty pails also arrived with dinner, and several of the students studied them, bewildered at their presence, until the word “Bones” scrawled across them. Soon enough, the pails were filled with the bones of their meal, and Dumbledore rose before them.

“For those of you who would like to participate in our little ritual to celebrate this special day, we shall be continuing our festivities outside. If you would, please bring the pails and follow me?”

The students moved in mass, surging forth from the Great Hall to find a trail of more lit pumpkins leading the way out of the castle and out onto the grounds. They chatted excitedly, commenting on the different pumpkins they passed, speculating on why they would need the bones, lamenting a ‘pathetic feast’, rehashing the different activities they’d done that day and were planning to participate in the next day. It was a rather loud crowd that spilled onto the grounds and into a large circled off area. In the center was an enormous pyre of wood and brush.

Once again, Dumbledore snared their attention, commanding their silence as he began. “We gather here tonight to celebrate the passing of the Old Year and to welcome in the new. We are here to celebrate Samhain, the final harvest, that time when the veil between the world’s is at its thinnest and those that have departed this world may return to it once more. Tonight we honor those who have gone before and may now return to us, tonight we honor our Mighty Dead.”

“This is the night when the gateway between our world and the spirit world is thinnest,” McGonagall began, her strident voice ringing out over the gathering. “Tonight is a night to call out those who came before. Tonight I honor my ancestors.” She lit her wand with a nonverbal lumos and raised it above her. “Spirits of my fathers and mothers, I call to you, and welcome you to join me for this night. You watch over me always, protecting and guiding me, and tonight I thank you. Your blood runs in my veins, your spirit is in my heart, your memories are in my soul. With the gift of remembrance, I remember all of you. You are dead but never forgotten, and you live on within me, and within those who are yet to come.”

By the end of her prayer, most others had lit and raised their wands, too. Some openly crying, others stoic.

 

“Let us light the fire,” Dumbledore called, raising his wand and waiting for others to join him. He looked towards Snape, nodding solemnly.

“Hail to the hordes that ride the sky,” the dark-haired professor recited, letting his voice fill the circle without shouting. “This Halloween night when the winds do cry / Dressed in a cloak with horns on his head / The wild king is here and he’s waking the dead / Within the blackness shrouded by clouds / The dark goddess stands surrounded by hounds / For she is the wisdom this pitch night / Looking deep into our souls for she has the sight / The blast of the horn calls forth the dead / The stag lord rides on with eyes glowing red / For to look into his eyes this most dread of nights / He will take our souls with the wild hunt in flight / So avoid his gaze mere mortals in fear / Stay indoors while the witches dance and cheer / For this is a night when all chaos rules / When the world in-between has not time for fools / Our magic we dance and raise the power / To bring healing and light in this most enchanted hour / Our words have meaning our hearts sing a song / Let us sit in the circle and feel the power strong / Let consciousness change with the smell of the smoke / Let us dance the round like the old country folk / Halloweens here the dark lord rules the land / Walking the forest with the goddess in hand / We welcome our dead with the lanterns we light / We sing our songs for the departed this Halloween night.”

The fire, a glowing ember at first, grew into a flaming beast.

“Fire, fire, glowing bright, in the darkness of this night,” Flitwick chirped, waving his wand towards the crackling flames. “Lay your protection over these lands, spread your power to those at hand. Fire, fire, growing strong, lend us your might to right the wrong. By flesh, by bone, by timber, by tone, as we will, so mote it be!”

With a cheer, several of the students tossed their pail of bones into the fire. Startled, the rest followed suite—one lad letting fly bones and pail both, much to the amusement and snickering of those around him.

“Another year has passed us,” Dumbledore called out, “and another year full of promise and hope stands before us. With the blessings of the Lord and Lady, the love of those around us, and the memories of those who have left us, we go from this sacred place knowing of the bounty yet to come in our lives.”

Another cheer went up as, on cue, small round tables from the Divination classroom winked into existence around them, tiny jars with candles light the table tops. A wave of a wand conjured up simple instruments that were enchanted to play. Off to the side more tables, larger tables laden with baskets of apples and nuts, appeared. Only a few steps away from that, a large trough filled with water and bobbing apples popped up. The gathering laughed and shouted with glee, taking off to different areas to explore.

Harry dragged Hermione closer to the fire, laughingly pulling her into a wild dance around the flames, whirling her this way and that until she was laughing and dizzy, begging to stop. Other couples and singles joined them, shouting and cheering as they danced and twirled around the bonfire. Harry couldn’t help but laugh harder at the look on Neville’s face as Hannah dragged him about, spinning wildly around and around until they both tumbled over.

Off to the side, he caught sight of Luna who was apparently showing some younger years how to peel an apple skin in one long slice. He knew from an earlier discussion that she planned to teach them a little spell that would spell out the initial of your love’s first name when tossed over the shoulder. It was no surprise to him, then, that she was surrounded by several young girls.

Some boys, Dean, Seamus, and Rom among them, had made a sport out of hitting targets with thrown apples, while others were attempting to bowl with some of the left over pumpkins. Others still were getting soaked as they plunged their heads into the water, chasing after elusive apples. Another prefect stood nearby, casting drying charms on request.

Over at another table, students were weaving wreaths from drying herbs and stems and other odds and ends that Hargrid and Sprout had generously donated. Tomorrow, if they desired, they could add bits and pieces they collected during a nature walk or create a whole new wreath. Some were overheard planning to send the decorations home to family even.

More students still were touring the divination tables, dabbling with the different fortune telling tools offered. There was more laughter and shouts of denial as the students tried their hand at tea leaf reading, cards, stones, spheres, and even drousing goblets. He certainly hoped all the tools survived the night and made it safely back to the divination tower without Professor Trelawny any wiser.

It was well past ten and approaching upon eleven when the professors finally rounded up the last of the students and herded them back inside and off to their dorms, promising them more festivities on the morrow. The students still out and about were reluctant to leave, but the promise of more fun the next day finally saw them on their way.

Harry, however, would not be so light of heart to enjoy the next day. Sunday’s newspaper would report only partially why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lightly revised 1/16/16


	21. The Dark Lord’s Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark revels and sacrificial rites - the Dark Lord celebrates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings - graphic and detailed blood, murder, rape/NCS

 

 

 

~THEN~

 

It was well past ten and approaching upon eleven when the professors finally rounded up the last of the students and herded them back inside and off to their dorms, promising them more festivities on the morrow. The students still out and about were reluctant to leave, but the promise of more fun the next day finally saw them on their way.

 

Harry, however, would not be so light of heart to enjoy the next day. Sunday’s newspaper would report only partially why.

 

 ~NOW~

The Dark Lord’s Celebration

_-Friday, October 31, Bryn Mwars House, Wales-_

 The bonfires were lit, the revel begun. Those already gathered drank copiously, laughed raucously, and danced riotously. He observed from his conjured throne—mockingly made from bone in honor of the holiday and heavily layered with cushioning charms. It was Halloween, after all. The night of the dead. It was only fitting that his death eaters celebrate. Not everyone had arrived yet. Some of his more visible followers had other obligations to see to first, public appearances and all that. But soon they would join him here. His loyal followers would once more avow their dedication to him and their cause, and then the true revelry would begin.  He smiled in anticipation.

 The hour continued to march closer to midnight. Soon they would begin. His anticipation grew until he could wait no more.

He stood, suddenly, and around him, his followers fell swiftly to attention. “We shall begin,” he announced, and as one, his death eaters bowed and apparated away.

 His most loyal, his inner circle, the children of his once upon a time school mates, were allotted thirty minutes to retrieve their offering and return here. Once they were finished here, they would then split off to regroup with the others, to lead the rest through their rituals. He would visit some, of course, to check on them, but he had his own special event planned for this night. By morning, however, all of his properties would have witnessed power being raised. He would have to trust his inner circle—something he did not do lightly—but it was a necessary step if his plans were to be properly protected for the forth coming year.

 Idly, he wondered who would bring the best offering while, with a flick of his wand, he cleared away the remnants of their earlier festivities and began engraving the runes he would need. Throughout the years he had learned for himself that age effected the sacrifice’s power. Young children provided an extra boost, supposedly because of their innocence and potential. Teens and young adults, however, especially if they were still virgin, were powerful.  Adults were acceptable, but lacked that extra surge of power. Not as much potential, he supposed. Soon enough, they started returning, tossing their stunned and bound offerings to the ground as they took up their place in the circle.  Over the next twenty minutes, his death eaters returned, until finally only two gaps were left in his ranks.

 “My lord,” Lestrange dared to speak up. “Will Severus not be joining us?”

Voldemort lazily flicked is wand, sending the wizards a painful jolt. “Severus has his own duties this night, Rodopus. They do don’t require his presence here when he is meant to continue spying on Dumbledore. Now, let us begin”

 He turned away from the throng, strode back to his throne of bones—with magic the monstrosity was not only intimidating but actually comfortable—and then whirled back around, eyeing each of his top lieutenants.

 “Tonight, on this night when the moon is dark and the veil between the two worlds is thin, on this most magical night of All Hallow's Eve, we celebrate our magic and renew our vows. You may begin.”

Bellatrix, unsurprisingly, surged forward first. “My lord, to your cause I pledge my life and my magic.”

And with that, the dam was burst, the others flowing forward, joining her in their pledges of fidelity to him, kneeling before him, dedicating their lives and their magic. To him.

 “Rise, my loyal friends, my family." He didn't even hesitate on the words, knowing exactly which ones to say to make them all feel... special.  "On this night, let us share power as we make the sacrifice. Of blood, of bone, of flesh.”

 “So mote it be,” they chanted, and he grinned. 

“Prepare the sacrifices!” he ordered, and they rushed to obey.

The thirteen bodies were ceremoniously laid out along the edge of the circle. Voldemort watched, idly approving of the offerings. They were muggles--mostly young teens grabbed off the streets. He knew this first step wouldn’t take very long. Raising power through blood sacrifice was messy, but effective, and it didn't require magical blood split. A practical use for muggles after all.

Before the end of the hour, his most loyal would rejoin with thirteen other groups of death eaters—the masses who were not yet privileged to be counted among his inner circle. Then they would continue to raise more power as each group proceeded with different sacrificial rituals. He hoped to have protective blessings placed on each of his special houses. After all, a little bit of blessing magic couldn’t hurt.

 His attention was drawn back to the ritual at hand as his loyal took up position behind each sacrifice. Someone had let their stunners wear off. Some of the sacrifices were opening crying, snot and tears running down their face, dampening the cloth gag they all sported. Others were glaring defiantly at the masked captors. Their bodies, however, would not respond to any command other than his own now that they were part of this circle. 

He flicked his wand, quickly casting a purity check spell, pleased when it returned back positive results. Age mattered as much as magical ability for this part of their ritual--which is to say, none at all.  All that mattered was the chaste blood pumping through their veins… pumping now, but not for long. 

He gave the signal, and as one, his loyal withdrew their ceremonial daggers, holding them up to the center of the circle.

At his next signal, those wickedly sharpened daggers sliced across the thirteen captives' throats, spilling their blood onto the ground and the runes he had carved there earlier.  The runes glowed, activating with the presence of offered blood. Soon the entire circle was awash in the glow of power. He could hear Bellatrix cackling. 

Life energy. There was something so sweet and intoxicating about it.

It took several long minutes for the raised magical power settled back down, settling into the ground and seeping back up into their magical cores. A little boost. It wouldn’t last indefinitely, unfortunately, but it would last long enough. “You will dispose of the bodies,” he commanded, turning away from the circle.  “Make it public. Be as creative as you like.  Then join your assigned groups.  Do not fail me,” he told them, knowing some of them would be too punchy on the power rush to move anywhere for a while yet. Others would be just fine, well accustomed to the blood ritual of the sacrificial goat.

Still, they had others to lead on this night, especially if he hoped to have all his property and projects blessed and still have time for his own special ritual before the sun rose. Seven hours seemed so far away, but he knew it would go quickly. He turned on the spot, apperating away to his personal house project.  Upon his arrival, the rabble he'd specifically chosen to help him perform this next sacrifice fell to their knees in homage.

“We are to make sacrifice,” he told them. “Quickly, go and retrieve your offerings.”

In mass, they bowed and apparated away, given him the time he needed to quickly carve the runes for a new sacrificial circle--this one encompassing an alter. This ritual would not call for the life force of the sacrificial goat, but blood would still be spilt. As he finished carving his last rune, his death eaters began returning.  They did not know this house was the one he choice to live in.  They would not remember its location before the end of the night. But he was generous, and would only take the memories of the location--not their lives.

Once again, he lifted his wand to cast the chastity charm; satisfied when the thirteen bodies presented proved to be virginal.  It seemed not all of his death eaters were incompetent, thankfully. Then again, there was a reason he had chosen these thirteen death eaters to help fuel the ritual to protect his personal home.  They were all decently powerful, fairly reliable, reasonable dedicated followers.

"We shall begin," he announced, gesturing for the others to take their places in the circle, their sacrifices forced to kneel at their feet.  Once everyone was in place, he began to chant. It was in Croatian, which he was fairly sure none of his followers knew. The very elements seemed to rise up and encircle them, and he knew he was successful, thus far. 

The next step was trickier, but not impossible.  He would need to collect the spilt virginal blood. It would be messy, but very much worth it.  And even better, when he was done with these lambs tonight, they would be taken to the houses and serve further purpose.  Smiling benevolently down at a young child, perhaps barely Hogwarts age, he held out his hand--as if he would help the pitiful thing. And then, with a flick of his wrist, the girl was sent flying like a ragdoll tossed, landing on the stone slab alter. Another wave saw ropes coming alive to snake up around her wrists and ankles.

There was a special dip in the alter, strategically place to capture any leakage.

Conjuring his dagger, he knew he would ensure each of the participates would provide plentiful offerings.

 *****

 

It was well past midnight and into the early hours of morn when Voldemort returned to his study, his body tingling pleasantly with the remnants of the raised power from the seven successful sacrifices he'd either witnessed or personally participated in. He sunk gratefully into his armchair behind the desk. He would never admit to how many charms he had placed on the chair to make it the second most comfortable piece of furniture in his home. He sat back, eyes closed, and took a moment to just breathe, allowing the magic to coarse through him as it would, feeling energized and powerful, and yet also exhausted.

 It had been a successful night thus far. His plans were progressing well, and with tonight’s rituals, the sacrificial blessings, he felt even more assured that his goals would be achieved. After years, no, decades, he felt he was finally gaining ground once more. His goals in life were fairly simple, he thought. 1. Repopulation of the British wizarding world, 2. Control of the ministry and therefore the government, 3. Control of Hogwarts and therefore the future. 4. Control over the British Isles and therefore his home.  Not necessarily in that order.

 He already had people working on various areas of his goals, but none were looking as promising as his plans for repopulation. Springbrooke House, where expectant mothers were taken, was up and running. They were expecting the first deliveries to be arriving soon. The infants would stay there for the first year or two of their life before being sent on. Work had already begun on a group home—not an orphanage, he refused to call it that—where the children would be raised as proper witches and wizards, if his death eaters decided they wanted little to no part in the child’s life.

 His snatcher teams had been drilled extensively on what he considered appropriate breeding material. One team canvassed university campuses and private schools solely, looking for young adults of pleasing features as well as brains; another team focused on tracking down magical creatures.  He knew fundamentally, many of his followers like to pretend they despised muggles or creatures, but the truth was, put a fetching face or comely body before them, and they fell like ravenous beasts to slack their lust or soothe their sense of superiority.  It mattered little to him. His goal, after all was to raise up an entirely new generation of followers, and to do that, he needed his current death eaters to impregnate as many men, women, and magical creatures as possible. 

 If anything, Voldemort was interested to see if his secret theory would be proven correct: would a little bit of muggle blood or creature blood empower the old family lines? It had certainly shown true for his own family’s magic, loathe though he was to admit to any need of gratitude to his parents. Severus, too, he remembered, had a muggle father and was quite powerful. More powerful than Eileen, his mother, had been. There were a handful of other examples to support his theory, but it wasn’t enough. No, the best way to see if his theory was correct would be to observe the children as they grew.

 A house was already designated strictly towards that purpose. He was pleased to have such generous followers.  Not only did he now have four houses dedicated to breeding—though his death eaters would not think of it as such. To them, the houses were merely play rooms where they could enact their deviant desires—he had Springbrooke for the expectant mothers and infants and now Oakleigh for the children as they grew.

 His elite or a well-distinguished death eater were gifted with a personal bitch for a two month period. If they managed to impregnate the bitch, they could choose to keep her and/or have another bitch. The public rooms were self-service, anyone can have a go at the bitches there.  All of their special guests were doused with copious potions—nutritional potions, prenatal potions, fertility potions, aphrodisiac and love potions.  All substances to keep them pliable and willing and eager. 

Yes, his goal to repopulate the wizarding world was progressing well. If only all his other goals were so successful. Obviously, he would need to revise his plans. Hogwarts was difficult with Dumbledore still at head. The old fool, though powerful, was weak-willed and was actually diluting the power of the wizarding world. His attempts to make everything light and rainbows was a travesty. Voldemort was not responsible for the decline of the wizarding world, no. He placed the blame for that solely at Dumbledore’s feet.

 Dumbledore, who was headmaster. Dumbledore, who was Supreme Mugwamp. Dumbledore, who supposedly had the power and influence enough to truly affect their world had allowed it to deteriorate, crumble. The wizarding world was actively dying, and Voldemort blamed Dumbledore. It was his job—his responsibility as headmaster to ensure Hogwarts remained strong, remained challenging and a true institute of superior learning. It was his job and responsibility as leader of the wizengamot to ensure that beneficial laws that protected and supported the magical way of life were enacted and upheld.  But no. Dumbledore had failed them all spectacularly, just like he knew he would. After all, Dumbledore had failed him time after time when he was a child. 

Voldemort sighed wearily, forcibly pushing these maudlin thoughts aside. Tonight was a night for celebration of power, celebration of a year behind them, the year ahead. It was a time to recommit himself to his goals, just as his death eaters had recommitted themselves to him. He would see his goals achieved. He would make the wizarding world great again, a true power to be contended with. And he would start in his own home.

With that little pep talk, Voldemort pushed himself back up and took off to the upper levels of the house. This home was his personal abode. Rarely were death eaters allowed to visit here other than his personal healers and or some of his elite. The home was not pretentiously large—some might find that odd—but it was spacious enough. After all, it was just himself and a few house elves who lived here year round. Although, that might soon change.  

 Lord Voldemort swept into the corridor with strong, steady clip of a powerful man who knew he was supreme. A door near the end snicked open and shut again as a dark figure emerged.

 “Everything is made ready for you, my lord,” the death eater groveled with a nodding bow of subservience.

 Lord Voldemort seethed with pleasure. “The proper potions have been administered as instructed?”

 “They have, my lord.”

 “Very good, very good,” he hissed. “Find Bella for your next assignment,” he instructed, and he waited until the man had completely disappeared around the corner before he continued to the end door.  Inside a young woman lay, naked, on the bed.  She was not restrained. The potions swimming along her bloodstream would ensure she would be most receptacle.

 With a simple wave of his hand he was cloaked once more in the visage of his youth-that of a younger Tom Riddle, still on the cusp of childhood, but most definitely an adult. He approached the bed and examined her body. She was a fetching young thing—pale of skin, but healthy, toned, a natural ginger, he noted with a small, amused smile.

 He had chosen her specifically to be his from the first moment he saw her, realized who she was. She had been delegated to one of his personal chambers, here in his home, attended to personally by one of the Dark Lord’s medical servants.  Given a stringent potions regime for a solid fourteen days before this night. This was, in fact, the first night he had visited her personally since sending her here. 

 Voldemort couldn’t help but be curious about this girl, the child who had held his diary, interacted with his horocrux, and almost fueled its corporeal return.  That she was a pureblood delighted him.  That his horocrux had marked her intrigued him. That she was magically strong excited him. 

 He reached out and skimmed a hand down her body, from shoulder to thigh, taking delight in the offering before him. Her nipples tightened as he watched; he didn’t bother to resist the urge to tweak first one and then the other, pinching the pink flesh into hardened nubs.  Then he reached lower and shoved two fingers into the damp heat of her cunt, flicking over her clitoris.  He knew from his healer’s report that she was a virgin.  As was only befitting, he thought, as he had claimed her as his own years ago.

 He divested himself of his outer robe—the only article of clothing he’d chosen to wear to this evening in anticipation to these events—and then climbed onto the bed, bending closer to inhale her scent.   He smiled in wicked delight as he ghosted his lips down the column of her neck to the shallow valley of her chest.  Two petite breasts, with their blushing nipples, teased his cheeks.  He rubbed his face against them before turning and sucking one into his mouth.  The body beneath him didn’t respond, but that wasn’t unexpected.  She wouldn’t awaken from her stasis until he spoke the counter-spell.

 Still suckling, he settled his body more firmly over hers, pushing her legs apart so he could thrust against her core and take delight in the tease of her pubis hair rubbing against his swelling cock. It was such a wicked feeling, and he smeared precum over her belly profusely. He relished it.  But finally he reached down and aligned his cockhead properly before pushing forward.  Just a tease of a bit before withdrawing and preparing to deliver a solid stroke and claim her completely. 

He leaned over her, sealed his mouth over hers and thrust his tongue between her lips as he cast the counter spell to the stasis charm wandlessly and nonverbally, and she awoke with a scream as he took her virginity. He laughed as magic swept over him, filled him, empowered him.  And he knew it was only just the beginning. 

Yes, this Weasley child was strong magically—the seventh child of the clan—she was fertile. And she was completely his.

 

**

 

Harry woke gagging, jostling the others in his attempt to free himself from the bedding. There were shouts and cries of protest before he finally made it free, panting heavily as he fought to control his gorge.

 “Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, pushing sleep tousled hair away from her face. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve got him,” Neville told her, sliding out of bed much easier than Harry had achieved. “Go back to sleep, all of you. I’ll take care of Harry.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione questioned, halfway to crawling out of the warm, cozy bed herself.

 “Yes, I’m sure. Go ahead, go back to sleep,” Neville assured her, scooping Harry up with an arm around his waist and helping the other teen out of the bedroom. “Come on, mate, let’s check out the bathroom, yeah?”

 Harry groaned, but agreeably allowed Neville to lead him into the ensuite bathroom. It wasn’t as impressive at the prefects’ bathroom, with a bathing pool, but it did have a generous sized tub that Neville started up after sitting Harry down on the toilet. “Must have been a pretty bad one,” he commented idly.

 “I saw Ginny,” Harry admitted shallowly. “I can’t tell them. Can’t tell Ron. Oh, gods…”

 “She’s still alive then?” Neville asked grimly. “There’s hope for her.”

 “It’s awful, Nev. He killed so many tonight.  All that blood. Just… wasteful. All those lives, snuffed out.  Had their throats sliced and they just bleed right out. Must have been at least thirty? Forty of them. He just had them killed. One group after another. And the ones he didn't outright slaughter and kill? It was worse, Nev. What he did to those poor children? Their innocence torn from them. Literally, he ripped from them. Took this great big dagger and just--"

Harry gagged again, but Neville was quick to position him over the porcelain bowl.

"Just breathe," Neville tried to soothe.  "There's nothing you can do for any of them if you're all worked up like this."

"And then he went to his house, his home," Harry continued to babble on, as if in a rush to get all the words out. "Gods, there’s a place he actually thinks of as home. Isn’t that creepy?  And then he just sat there thinking for the longest time, murmuring and nodding to himself. And I think, okay, that’s the end of it, right? I’ll be free of him. But it wasn’t. I wasn’t. He went upstairs, went into a room, and there was Ginny. Laid ou,t naked on the bed, and he raped her, Neville. Over and over again. And she kept screaming and screaming. I know you and Luna and Hannah keep saying it can’t be done in the magical world, but he is, they are. They’re forcing those men and woman to do atrocious things, and they’re not all muggles or magical creatures, either. Some of them are witches or wizards, Neville, so how is that possible? You tell me? How is he still getting away with this?”

“I don’t know, Harry. I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.” Neville finished with running the bath, and turned back to him. “Here, why don’t you try getting in the bath for a bit, let the water sooth you.”

 “Join me?” Harry entreated.

 “Of course. Should I ask for a cuppa while we soak?”

 “Maybe after,” Harry allowed, mechanically slipping out of his pajamas before stepping into the hot water. He turned and waited for Neville to join him before sitting down, sitting back against the other boy. It was slightly strange, but also comforting. Normally when they were naked, it was because they were fooling around and Harry was always firmly the chaser, but tonight, he just wanted comfort.

 “He wants to repopulate the wizarding world,” Harry mused aloud after several minutes of quietly chasing his thoughts around his own head.

 “It’s not a bad goal,” Neville answered calmly.

 “He’s kidnapping innocents and having his death eaters drug and impregnate them,” he growled.

 “Definitely not the way to go about it.”

 “I wish I knew where those damn houses were.”

 “If you did, then you could send the aurors there to help free them, but you don’t, so you can’t,” Neville pointed out reasonably.

 “I know that!”

 “What I’m saying, Harry, is that it’s not up to you to do everything. You’re doing what you can, right here at Hogwarts. And with Hermione and Hannah, well, that’s going to have to be enough.”

Harry’s blood quickened. “It’s not for sure yet,” he whispered, still marginally disappointed that the girls had decided not to go to Madame Pomphrey to be checked over and possibly spelled until next week. Hermione had insisted that whether they were or they weren’t pregnant, she wanted to focus on getting through the Halloween celebrations first. Hannah had decided to support her decision and wait to go see Madame Pomphrey with Hermione. As a result, Harry found himself more stressed out and on tether hooks, more than normal. The possibility of the two girls being pregnant was…. Well, if Luna was to be believed—and she was—nigh on certainty.

 It was exciting and terrifying and holy fuck, he was only seventeen! He knew the girls planned on pausing the pregnancy, but that still wouldn’t change the fact that there were two girls who he cared about very much who were carrying his babies. There was way too much shit going on in his life right now to be adding babies in to it. He wouldn’t even know how to be a dad. Hell, he wasn’t even a very good boyfriend yet! And everything was so fucked up.

There was Voldemort to worry about, NEWTs were this year—something no one was willing to let him forget, it seemed—he still didn’t know for sure what he was going to be doing with his life. Remus had mentioned again taking some time over the holidays to go over his portfolios and inheritance from his dad and Sirius, but… he just… couldn’t. Didn’t want to. He’d grown up with nothing; finding out he had so much was… intimidating, and he didn’t care if that made him sound like he was scared.

 And there was this whole Vanteerian business. Just his luck he would turn out to inherited some special extinct creature and turn into a bloody cat with wings. Thankfully Dumbledore hadn’t made too big of a fuss about it, but Harry certainly didn’t want the ministry to find out. Who knows what craziness would ensue then. No, if he had his way, he would take his newly formed family and go hide out someplace mostly secluded. Have a sizable garden for Neville, a laboratory and library for Hermione to study and research to her hearts content, an entertainment room to amuse Hannah, a woods nearby populated with several safe magical creatures for Luna, maybe a quidditch pitch for himself but definitely a sizable kitchen he could play in. Far away from anyone who would try to hurt or bother them. Yes, that’s what he wanted.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Neville murmured. “Hopefully good thoughts?”

“I want to find a place hidden away, where we all could stay and be safe and happy.”

 “Sounds nice I think between us, we should be able to find something, if not already in our estates, I’m sure we could pool enough resources to purchase a place.”

 “I haven’t looked through my folders yet,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

 “You need to do that.”

 “I know. Remus has already gotten on me about it several times this year.”

 “It’s important to know what you have and what you’re worth,” Neville reinforced. “If for no other reason than to know what your children are entitled to.”

 “Our children,” Harry corrected.

 Neville paused… and then resumed calmly cupping the warm silky water up over Harry’s chest and arms. “Our children,” he repeated.

 

**

 

 

Still more to come…

 

 


	22. November - A Rush Towards the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of October's bloodiness, life continues on at Hogwarts.

 

22-November and a Rush Towards the Holidays-

 

~THEN~

 

“What I’m saying, Harry, is that it’s not up to you to do everything.” Neville pressed his cheek against Harry’s and gave him a quick kiss. “You’re doing what you can, right here at Hogwarts. And we all know that. Everyone who matters knows it. And with Hermione and Hannah, well, that’s going to have to be enough.”

 

“I want to find a place hidden away, where we all could stay and be safe and happy,” he admitted, casually running his fingers along Neville’s thigh under the water.

 

“Sounds nice,” Neville hummed. “I think between the two of us, we should be able to find something, if not already in our estates, I’m sure we could pool enough resources to purchase a place…Let’s see about getting back to the girls,” Neville suggested, pushing to stand up and snatch a towel. “Tomorrow’s going to start soon enough and the school needs to see their head boy setting an example, not looking like hell warmed over because he didn’t get enough sleep.”

 

“Too right you are, Neville. What would I do without you?”

 

“Suffer insomnia,” the other boy responded without pause, tossing Harry his pajamas.

 

 

~NOW~

The Dark Lord’s Celebration

_-Sunday, November 2, Great Hall-_

 

 

**Bloodied Results of Sacrificial Rituals Found by Muggles**

_In what could be called no less than horrific, muggle authorities reported a spree of human sacrificial murders preformed Halloween night. While children and adults alike were out celebrating the holiday, some deviant villain went about slaughtering innocent folks. The muggle aurors, called policemen, have discovered over thirty bodies of the brutally murdered victims, all with their throats sliced open and drained of blood. If this news isn’t enough to terrify you, my dear readers, than perhaps what I tell you next, the most terrifying of all, will.  Although these murders were perpetuated upon muggles and found by the muggle aurors, the news of these crimes reached our own ministry of magic for a very good reason. Found carved on the bellies of these poor unfortunate souls was the inscription of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.  That’s right, dear readers. The Dark Mark was found carved into the very flesh of these sacrifices. It could only lead one to wonder, what would You-Know-Who need with such carnage. We here at the Daily Prophet will continue to investigate and keep you informed._

**Dark Magic detectors go on a new high alert throughout the ministry Halloween Night. Aurors fail to investigate.**

**Three Weeks after the Raid on Hogsmeade. Where are Our Children?**

 

Hermione huffed with annoyance and tossed the paper aside. “It wouldn’t be so awful if they would actually do their job and report the news honestly,” she growled. “This is nothing more than a gossip mongering rag.”

 

“I don’t know why you’re so indignant,” Neville mused, sopping up his beans on toast. “You’ve been reading it for nearly seven years now. It’s not like it’s changed any.”

 

“It’s ridiculous. I don’t know how the people of the wizarding world can stand to put up with such a lack of good, decent, reliable news reporting!”

 

“Most wouldn’t know reliable news if it bit them in the arse,” Ron spoke up, reaching across Hermione to grab the platter of eggs.

 

“It’s disgusting,” Hermione insisted, pointedly ignoring Ron as he deposited a large pile of golden scrambled eggs onto his own plate. “You should do something about it,” she determined resolutely, turning to Harry.

 

Harry choked, coughed, and sputtered over his tomato. “Me?” he finally managed to gasp.

 

“Yes, you.”

 

“What do you expect me to do about it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hermione grumbled. “Buy them out or something.”

 

Neville laughed at her. “I don’t think he could really do that, Hermione. You’d be better set turning the Quibbler into a reliable news source.”

 

“We could do that, I suppose. After all, we have Luna on our side.”

 

“I was kidding.”

 

“Mmm, doesn’t mean the idea doesn’t have merit. Or else we could just start our own newspaper.”

 

“Too much work,” Ron pointed out. “You’d have to get people to work the press, and write the stories, and then there’s the deliveries. Not worth it.”

 

“It would be if they actually did a good, reliable job.”

 

“Let it go, Hermione. The Prophet is as British as Witch Weekly and Quidditch Quarterly. It’s not going anywhere.”

 

***

_-Monday, November 10, Library-_

 

Hermione was sitting at her favorite table in the library when she overheard the sneering voice of a pureblooded bully from the other side of the stacks.

 

“Why they bother to waste perfectly good magical education on a no-good muggle-born like you, I just can’t understand.”

 

“I have as much right to study and learn magic as you do, Muldoon,” a high pitched voice piped up. “I got a letter just the same as you.”

 

Hermione was already up and moving, but not quick enough to stop the first boy, Muldoon, from continuing.

 

“Just because you managed by some fluke, to be born with magic, doesn’t automatically give you the right to learn how to use it.”

 

“Actually,” Hermione spoke up, “According to the Hogwarts’ Charter, it does. That is, after all, the purpose of Hogwarts—to teach every and anyone with magic how to use that magic respectfully and responsibly. Being a Ravenclaw, I’m saddened to discover that you’re not already familiar with the charter upon which our school is founded on. It was, after all, the Founders’ dearest wish that all children be taught how to wield their magic.”

 

“Of course you would say that,” the first year Ravenclaw boy retorted. “You’re one of them, just like him.”

 

“If you mean ‘muggle born’, then, yes. I am,” Hermione returned, folding her arms and staring down at him. “As are nearly two-sevenths of the students currently attending Hogwarts.”

 

“You don’t belong,” the boy stated stubbornly.

 

“Setting aside the fact that the school charter explicitly states differently, do you have anything to support that claim?” she challenged.

 

“Careful, young raven,” an amused voice spoke up from behind Hermione. “It’s not wise to rile a lioness. Especially not our head girl.”

 

“Zabini,” Hermione greeted suspiciously, seeing the other teen sitting not far away, lazily sprawled in an arm chair, a book dangling from his hand as he watched them.

 

“Granger,” he returned with a little smile for her before turning those liquid dark eyes back to the little firstie. “Well, raven? I believe she asked you a question? What reasons have you for saying muggle born do not belong in Hogwarts?”

 

“You’re a Slytherin!” the boy shouted, almost sounding betrayed.

 

Blaise smoothed his tie between two fingers. “Why, so I am, but that hardly answers the question.”

 

“Why are you sticking up for them?” the boy demanded childishly. “They’re nothing but a bunch of filthy muggle born!”

 

“Ah, I see. You think simply because I am a Slytherin that I should care little to nothing for muggle born. But what you fail to take into consideration is that blood status has no bearing on house. Even Slytherin is home to some muggle born. Did you not know? Not surprising. After all, it wouldn’t be very cunning of us to go around announcing such a thing, now would it?”

 

The boy gaped at him before realizing he was at a complete loss for words and turning tail.

 

“Five points from Ravenclaw,” Blaise called languidly after him. “For sheer failure to support your claim.”

 

“You don’t have the authority to take points,” Hermione reminded him amusedly.

 

“Ah, well, I suppose I shall have to rely on you to see it done then, won’t I?”

 

Hermione shook her head but did remove the points—for bullying.

 

“Are there really?” a small voice asked, snaring their attention.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Are there really some muggle born in Slytherin House?” the small Ravenclaw boy remaining asked.

 

“I have no reason to lie,” Blaise stated calmly, “and certainly not about something so innocuous. There are at least two muggle born I can think of without hesitancy, and at least another dozen more who call themselves half-blood.”

 

“The Houses weren’t meant to distinguish us by blood or anything so prejudicial. They were meant to sort us with other personalities similar to our own values,” Hermione added. “And even then, as we grow and mature, our personalities change and we begin to encompass traits from all of the houses. After all, what good is being smart if you’re not cunning or loyal enough to know when to use those smarts, or brave enough to follow through? It’s not enough to be just one thing.”

 

“Muldoon’s been on my case since the first night, saying about how I don’t belong here at Hogwarts, how I’m always asking stupid questions. But they’re not stupid if I don’t know the answer to them yet, are they? How else am I supposed to learn if I don’t ask questions? It’s not my fault I didn’t get to grow up in the wizarding world, learning all the same things as he and the others did!”

 

“No, it’s not your fault,” Hermione reassured him. “And you keep asking your questions, because I promise you, you’re not the only one who doesn’t know the answers, and if you don’t ask the questions, who will?”

 

The boy nodded, seemingly determined. He took the books he must have been studying from before the incident started and made his way to the circulation desk. Hermione watched him, a bit wistful.

 

“As I seem to remember, you were the one answering most of those questions, not just asking,” Blaise spoke up, recapturing her attention.

 

Hermione smiled wryly back at him. “Yes, well, I was determined to make up from not being raised in the wizarding world. I tried to learn absolutely everything I could, as quickly as I could. Of course, it was never enough.”

 

“It never is. There will always be something new to learn.”

 

“That’s the beauty of living, isn’t it?”

 

“I suppose. I meant to ask, are you and your friends all right?”

 

“Yes, why?”

 

“I thought I overheard you discussing an appointment with our mediwitch. I must have been mistaken. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take this book back to the common room with me.”

 

He got up and strolled off towards the circulation desk now that the little Ravenclaw was gone. Hermione stood there watching him for several moments, confused. Was he… spying on them? She wondered absurdly. Whatever for?

 

Shaking her head, she went back to her table to continue with her studies. She wanted to get a bit more of her potions’ assignment done before her afternoon classes, especially since she suspected none of the pard would be in the mood to do homework tonight. After all, she and Hannah had an appointment with Madame Pomphrey after their last class today. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to focus in Transfiguration and Herbology until then.

 

****

 

Luna was in the entrance hall wait for them as they trooped up from the green houses. “I don’t think I’ve ever disliked being so much younger than you all before,” the blonde Ravenclaw practically pouted as they joined up. “It’s just no fun being by myself in class. We should really see about adding another person to the pard.”

 

“I don’t think it works that way,” Hannah smiled ruefully at the other girl.

 

“No, I know it doesn’t,” Luna signed, snuggling up to Neville, “but I still think we should make plans for how to incorporate new members.”

 

“Don’t you think we have enough to do with?” Harry asked.

 

“I would think so,” Hermione agreed. “Let’s just take this next step and see what Madame Pomphrey says. Then we can go back to our quarters and discuss things at length. All right?”

 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

 

“I’m not nervous,” Hermione snapped.

 

“Well, that’s good, because as I said, there’s nothing to be nervous about. I think, if anything, I might be a little bit jealous.”

 

“Why ever for!” Harry gaped.

 

“It probably won’t be so easy for me when it’s finally my turn, but I have faith and trust in you, Harry,” the blonde chirped

 

“Uh, thanks?”

 

“Okay, well, do you want us to come in with you?” Neville asked, hesitating outside the doors to the Hospital wing. “Or we could wait out here, or back in the rooms…?”

 

Hannah squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Neville. I don’t know, do you want to come in? I don’t mind. You, Hermione?”

 

“Maybe we should wait, just a little bit longer,” the head girl hedged, chewing her lip nervously.

 

“Better to know for sure than be unsure and worrying about it, don’t you think?” Hannah encouraged.

 

Harry reached over for her hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go find out for sure. One way or another.”

 

“For Queen and country,” Hermione murmured weakly, squeezing Harry’s hand back and then following him in to the infirmary.

 

“Good afternoon, ladies,” the mediwitch greeted. “Right on time, I see. And you’ve brought your partners as well. Very well. Let us go into the back rooms for more privacy and then we can do the scan. Gentlemen, if you would wait out here.”

 

“If you don’t mind, Madame,” Hermione interrupted, hand still clenching around Harry’s, “I would really prefer if we could all do this together. The outcome will affect all of us, after all.”

 

The medi-witch pursed her lips in a frown before agreeing. “Very well, and you, Miss Abbot? Do you feel the same?”

 

“Oh, yes. I’m completely fine with Harry and Neville coming through and watching,” Hannah agreed. “Luna, too, if she wants.”

 

“This is highly…irregular,” the matron frowned but nonetheless agreeably led them all to the back.

 

“I looked in the library for the diagnostic charm to detect pregnancy, but I was unable to find any,” Hermione spoke up once they were safely behind the privacy screens.

 

“No, I should think not,” Madame Pomfrey mused. “Even if this is a boarding school, the governors still hope to avoid such things while children are at school. Aside from the fact it is simply not done for the witch to diagnose herself. The pregnancy detection charm should always be cast by another person.”

 

“But I could have casted it to check Hannah, and she could have casted it on me,” Hermione pointed out.

 

“It is still always preferable that one see a medical practitioner for such things.”

 

Hermione sulked and pouted, but said no more. Instead, she choose to watch intently as Madame Pomphrey waved her wand over Hannah and then stepped away to observe the results.

 

They all watched her with baited breath. Only Hermione had been there the last time, and so she picked up on the change almost as quickly as the mediwitch who frowned and pursed her lips. “Well, there’s nothing to be done for it,” the woman muttered.  “I will have the conception interruptus potion brewed so that we may put the pregnancy into status. That way you will be able to finish your NEWTs at the very least. And since we’ve caught it early enough, you should not suffer any adverse symptoms of the pregnancy.”

 

“She’s pregnant? Really? That’s—that’s amazing. That’s great,” Harry choked out, staring at Hannah in awe. Neville clapped his shoulder and grinned back at her. “Congratulations.”

 

“Thank you,” Hannah responded, beaming at him encouragingly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance soon, too.”

 

“And me,” Hermione requested, stepping towards Madame Pomphrey once more and capturing her attention before she could question the other’s interactions. She waited with baited breath, heart crawling up out of her chest and into her throat.  She couldn’t see the colors of the spell the medi-witch cast, so she quickly averted her gaze to the others with her.

 

It was there, in Harry’s face, that she saw the answer before Madame Pomphrey said anything. The awe and amazement and wonder written plainly across his face was answer enough.  She placed a hand over her mostly flat belly—thank you very much. It was quite unbelievable to her that a tiny life form was growing there, a new human being. A little future witch or wizard. She was really going to be a mum.

 

“You’re a little further along, dear. I would say conception took place shortly after our last meeting?” Hermione didn’t bother answering, too caught up in her own thoughts.  “Well, again, it’s not anything that should cause a problem.  Now, if you’re still serious about preforming the interruptus spell that will allow you to place your pregnancy into status until such time as you release the spell—“

 

“Yes. Definitely.” Hermione nodded, reaching out to take the hand Harry held out to her.

 

“I must caution you to read all the literature available on the subject,” Madame Pomfrey continued, making notes in each students’ file.

 

“There’s not much about it in the library.”

 

“No, there wouldn’t be,” Madame Pomphrey frowned some more, lips pursing in disapproval. “But I have requested some books from a friend of mine which covers the topic. I’m sure I can trust you to treat them with care and consideration.”

 

“With Hermione, it’s most assured,” Neville promised, taking the books the medi-witch offered.

 

“Yes, well. If that’s all,” she asked, throwing an observant eye over the other three.

 

“We’re well, thank you, Madame Pomphrey,” Harry said, quick to make an escape.

 

“See that you keep that way.”

 

They followed a bubbly Hannah, who was linked arm-in-arm with Luna, practically skipping out of the Hospital Wing, Neville and Harry to either side of Hermione. The Head girl seemed… shocked. Lost in thought and in a daze, and Harry shot several worried glances her way.

 

“Hermione?” he asked, hesitant to break into her thoughts but also worried. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m pregnant,” she responded, reaching out again to grip his hand, as if to ground herself in the reality of it all. “I’m really, truly pregnant.”

 

Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Was she happy? Upset? Did she blame him? Was she angry at him? After all, it was really kind of sort of his fault, and he couldn’t help all the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling, either. Yes, he was scared—he was only seventeen, and he didn’t have the best role models growing up on how to raise a child, let alone take care of a baby. But it was Hermione, who he always cared strongly for, who he loved as much as he was capable of, who he adored and admired and… was really his best friend turned lover, err, girlfriend. She was his partner in crime, his conscious. And now she was pregnant. She had a little person growing inside her—which, okay, was pretty creepy, but also pretty miraculous. He always knew she was amazing, but now, she seemed ten times more so.

 

He squeezed her hand back, otherwise keeping silent.

 

Because as confused and in awe of the situation as he was, there was also another part of him, a part he was trying to stifle, a part he suspected and knew was his vanteerian. His cat was pleased, practically purring with satisfaction. Knowing he had successfully mated his two girls was a thrilling accomplishment that actually turned him on a little. Not a predicament he wanted to be in while still out in the corridors of the castle. Still, his cat was pleased and jumping at the opportunity to show the girls just how pleased he was.

 

No, it was definitely better to put a lid on his cat until he knew better how Hermione was. Or, at least until they were all safely tucked away behind the closed doors of the head boy and girl chambers. He couldn’t get them back to their rooms soon enough.

 

*****

 

Luna and Hannah twirled into the room, giggling madly as they fell onto the sofa. Neville followed after, carefully placing the books Madame Pomphrey had lent them on the desk in the corner. Harry was last in the room, closing the door firmly behind them and feeling the wards he’d been practicing flare up. Now no one should be able to get in, even if they knew the password, without a direct invitation from someone inside the room.

 

“Hermione?” he called softly, not wanting to startle her. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine, really. I’m just…” Hannah and Luna made space for her on the sofa and she sunk gratefully in between them.

 

“In shock at the reality of it?” Hannah suggested, grinning. “It is a little strange, isn’t it? I mean, there’s a little witch or wizard inside of me, but I don’t really feel any different.”

 

“Well, right now, it really isn’t even a baby,” Hermione went into her scientific explaining mode. “Just a mass of cells that are quickly multiplying.”

 

The others stared back at her, blank and confused, even Harry, and she huffed in annoyance. “Really, the wizarding world needs to study more than just magic. It’s ridiculous.”

 

“Well, we’re working on it, right?” Harry told her, trying to interrupt a rant before it could take off. “In the meantime, though, back to you. Are you all right?”

 

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. “It’s just… a little overwhelming is all. I mean, we knew, or suspected at least, that your cat was trying to breed us. And now it’s confirmed, Hannah and I are pregnant. Really, we should be asking you. Are you okay, Harry?”

 

“Me? I’m fine. I’m not the one who’s pregnant.”

 

“Well, in a way, you are, too,” Hannah teased. “Daddy.”

 

He couldn’t help the shocked grin that pulled at his face.

 

Hermione had to rain on his joy. “I think, though, we should wait to tell my parents, at least until the Christmas holidays.”

 

“Uh, yeah, definitely want to wait on that,” Harry agreed, causing the others to chuckle. “What about you, Hannah? What are you going to tell your guardian?”

 

“Nothing,” the girl responded staunchly. “There’s no need. It’s not like I’ll be showing or even actively pregnant when we go home. I mean, the baby will be in a stasis spell, so, for all intents and purposes, we might as well not even be pregnant.”

 

Harry frowned, feeling a fissure of displeasure at the thought of his girls not being pregnant, but he quickly stuffed it down, reminding himself that they were pregnant, Hermione and Hannah were growing his children—and soon, so would Luna and Neville, he thought with a tiny thrill—but protecting the pregnancies, putting them into status until the girls were safely away. After all, this is what they had discussed.

 

*****

 

_-Tuesday, November 12, Great Hall-_

 

Mail arrived in a flurry of owl wings. Harry wasn’t as surprised as he might have been in years past when several owls arrived for him. He snatched up several rashers from the silver platters set out on the table and crumbled them onto his plate, offering it out to the bobbing owls as he retrieved his letters. One he recognized right away as the Tonks’s owl, and he wasn’t surprised to find it carrying a parcel as well. Another, he discovered, was his requested mail order catalog from Diagon. The last was Hedwig, who perched regally on his shoulder, waiting for the rabble to depart.

 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted his familiar, reaching up to give her a scratch before selecting a piece of bacon for her. She accepted it before hopping over to Hermione’s shoulder and holding her leg out.

 

“For me?” the head girl asked, surprised, carefully retrieving the letter. “Oh, it’s from my parents! Thank you, Hedwig!”

 

“I wonder how Hedwig knew your parents had a letter for you,” Ron asked, leaning forward.

 

“She’s just that good,” Harry said, smirking proudly.

 

“Yeah, but usually only family owls or familiar can sense when there’s mail for their witch or wizard,” Ron protested. “I mean, I could see if it was for Harry, but it’s kind of funny is all, Hedwig collecting mail for you, Hermione.”

 

Harry, Neville, and Hermione all shared a quick look, but not quick enough for Ron to miss it. “Unless there’s something going on that you haven’t told me,” the redhead stared suspiciously at his two best friends before studying Hermione’s hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

 

Hermione gaped, while Neville had to choke down a laugh. “It’s not that funny, mate,” Ron groused, shooting Neville an unhappy look. “You know as well as I that they’re, well…”

 

“Well, what,” Hermione demanded.

 

“Well, I mean, you two are officially together now, right?” Ron explained. “No more pussyfooting around each other or any of that.”

 

“Now, wait a minute,” Harry protested. “What do you mean by officially and pussyfooting?”

 

“Well, I mean, it was pretty clear to almost anyone that you two would make a good pairing if you ever hooked up, right? And you’ve always cared about Hermione more than any other girl, and she’s always worrying about you and all, before anyone else. So, I mean, it was kind of inevitable, wasn’t it?”

 

“He might not like girls at all, that way,” Neville put forth, causing Ron to snort. “You said it yourself, Hermione’s the only girl he’s ever really cared about.”

 

“Yeah, but he still tried dating Cho and,” Ron stumbled a moment before pushing on. “And my sister,” he pointed out. “Besides, I would know. I would know if my best mate played for the same team,” he insisted.

 

“Why are we even talking about this?” Harry asked, more than a little embarrassed by the topic of his sexuality being discussed so openly over breakfast in the great hall where anyone could just listen in. It was begging for rumors.

 

“Because Hedwig is bringing mail for Hermione,” Ron grumbled. “That’s not normal, no matter how smart she is,” he added when the owl in question screeched at him. “Not unless you’ve gotten engaged or something. Have you?”

 

“No, Ronald, we haven’t,” Hermione snapped, showing off just exactly how annoyed she was with the ginger. “Hedwig has delivered mail for both you and I before. Why are you making such a stink about it now?”

 

“Sure, she’s delivered, but she’s never brought a letter without being sent before,” Ron insisted. “I mean, you didn’t send a letter to your parents, did you? It’s not like they’re just replying to you.”

 

“As a matter of fact, they are,” Hermione huffed, standing up to leave before he could question her anymore. He was right, though. She hadn’t sent Hedwig with a letter to her parents, but she had been thinking she needed to before very much later. In fact, she had been planning to write a letter home this evening. It was unexpectant for Hedwig to bring her a letter from home without first being sent there.

 

In fact, the lack of ability for her parents to reach her without Hermione first sending them a letter had been discussed this summer, with her parents considering purchasing an owl for the house, so they could keep in contact with their daughter when they wanted. Hermione had explained to them how she couldn’t have both a cat and an owl while at Hogwarts, and her mother wasn’t too thrilled with Crookshanks’s panache for catching birds and rodents and then leaving them on her doorstep, so the cat was definitely going to Hogwarts with Hermione—not that she would have allowed it any other way.

 

Once she was away from the great hall, she ducked into one of the first floor study rooms that was thankfully empty and opened the letter.  She skimmed the letter, noticing how it had been started nearly two weeks ago and added to until it could be sent.  Her mother and father both added to the letter, which was nearly ten pages long.  Mostly it was all minor gossip about the family, some amusing little tales from the practice, reminders that they loved her and missed her and hoped she was doing well, taking care of herself. Two points stood out, however.  One, her mother wanted to know if she wanted to invite Harry over for the Christmas holidays, surprising her, actually.  The second, was the acknowledgement of Hedwig just showing up the afternoon before, without a letter.

 

“We were wondering if you were planning to come home for the holidays this year. I know it’s your last year at school, and your friend Harry, usually stays over, but if you’d like, you may invite him over the holidays, too. You dad and I would love to spend some time with you this Christmas, and it would be nice to get some time to formally meet and get to know Harry. We know how much you care about him, and we’d like the opportunity to know and care about him, too.  Just let me know, and we can have the guest room spruced up and made ready.”

 

And a few paragraphs later, “Harry’s owl just popped up out of nowhere. She didn’t have a letter with her, though. It was quite strange, but your dad and I are hoping you’re all right? Write us back soon, please, and let us know for sure. Thank Harry for sending his owl! Love you, dear. All our best, Mum & Dad.”

 

*******

 

_-Wednesday, November 13, first block-_

 

Harry walked into one of the study rooms Hermione and he had initiated. There were several previously unused classrooms that they had taken over and turned into study rooms for all students to use. The idea was, if different forms and houses had an assignment or needed help, they could go to a particular study room and potential find the help they needed in others. It was a little slow to get off. A lot of the older students confessed that they got distracted by helping the younger students, but then, the younger students all seemed to be prospering.

 

This study room happened to be for potions, and it was just as popular at the others. Not surprising, really. Potions was a difficult subject, and not having Snape teaching it didn’t change that fact, much to many of the older students’ disgust. Harry hadn’t come here looking for help, per say, although he did have an essay he needed to finish up, which was his excuse to come.  He saw the one he was looking for over at one of the study tables to the left, a third year Hufflepuff listening attentively to what the seventh year was saying.

 

He walked up and set his things down, calmly setting up.

 

“What do you think you are doing?” Draco drawled, shooting him a half-incredulous, half-disgusted look, fully managing to scare off the Hufflepuff girl into skittering away. Good thing he’d finished answering her question, the annoying little twitch.

 

Harry looked around the room before looking back down at his potions textbook and notes. “Studying for Potions, I thought that was obvious. We have a test today.”

 

“Yes, well, I was at this table first. Go find your own, Potter.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Go suck on a lemon drop,” he told the other seventh year, settling in and pulling his books and notes toward him. He pointedly ignored the other boy’s affronted look.

 

After a moment, Draco went back to his own studying.

 

“You know what I don’t like about these rooms,” Draco said after a solid ten minutes of silence between them.

 

“No, but I figure you’re going to tell me?”

 

“Well, here I am, finished with my potions review, and now I want to work on my runes, but I don’t feel like traipsing all the way up to the Runes Study Room. I’m here, and I’m already set up, so I want to study my runes here. I don’t want to pack everything up to move into another room just to unpack everything so I can study.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “So study your runes here,” he told him. It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to make this argument, afterall.

 

“But this is the Potions study room,” the blond stressed. “Why would I study Runes in a Potions study room?”

 

“Because you’re here and you want to study runes. Or else, go ahead and pack up your stuff and head on up to the runes room.”

 

“But I don’t want to move.”

 

“Then don’t.”

 

“I mean, to have to pack up all my things…”

 

“You’re a wizard aren’t you? You have your wand. Use the packing charm if you’re that lazy.”

 

Draco scowled.

 

“It’s not lazy to use a charm to get tasks done quickly. It’s efficient.”

 

“Call it what you will,” Harry shrugged. “But, seriously, it’s like wizards have come up with a way to avoid doing most any work.”

 

“Why shouldn’t we? We have magic.”

 

“Like that’s a right to be lazy.”

 

“We’re not lazy!”

 

“With a wave of your wand, poof! You summon things instead of just getting up to go get it. You conjure water instead of getting up to pour some from the jug. It’s lazy.”

 

“We have magic. Why shouldn’t we use it!” Draco protested, giving the head boy and incredulous look.

 

“I’m not saying not to use it; I’m saying you take it for granted,” Harry stressed. “You don’t really honor and respect you magic.”

 

“I’m a wizard. I respect my magic.”

 

“Really?” Harry drawled. “When was the last time you even thought to be grateful for having magic?”

 

“Every time I’m forced to think about how horrible it would be to have been born a squib, or worse, a muggle.”

 

Harry couldn’t prevent himself from rolling his eyes. “See, you just take it for granted. You don’t get how wonderful it is because you’ve never had to do without. I don’t know why I’m even talking about this with you anyway. Here,” he groused, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a letter.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Take it and find out for yourself.”

 

Draco eyed it suspiciously, but didn’t reach for it before Harry lost his patience and huffed. “It’s a letter from your aunt—the non-crazy one. She’s inviting you over for the Christmas holidays.”

 

Draco hesitantly took the letter and flicked it open. “How would you know?”

 

“Because it came with my letter, and Andromeda basically told me she was going to invite you for the holidays. I’d go, just to get away from here for a while—not that Christmas at Hogwarts isn’t nice and all, but it gets a little dreary if you’re all by yourself, and I don’t think any of the other Slytherins are planning on sticking around, are they?”

 

“Why would—“ the blond stopped himself. “Of course, as head of the family, she would have to ask your permission to invite me,” Draco remembered sourly.  “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t need your charity.”

 

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry growled back sourly. “You lost your mother, but she also lost any chance of reconciling with her sister, something I know she always hoped for. You are that last living link she has to her sister; you’re family, whether you want to admit it or not. Besides, it would probably do you some good to meet your cousin and experience a little bit of muggle life.”

 

“But she’s a witch!” Draco protested.

 

“Yes, and she married a wizard, but they living in a muggle area and enjoy muggle conveniences. You could learn some things, and maybe be a better wizard for it.”

 

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

 

“Well, you know how to prove me wrong, don’t you?”

 

They stared at one another, weighing what the other would do or say next. Draco finally looked away, tucking the letter in between his books. “I’ll think about it,” he allowed, packing up the rest of his things.

 

“Where are you going?” Harry asked without thinking.

 

“I told you, I want to study runes. This is the potions study room.”

 

He rolled his eyes but let the other boy go without further comment. Draco wasn’t even gone out the door for a full minute before a frazzled looking fourth year sidled up to him with his book out and a desperate look in his eye.  Harry sighed, but smiled, and gestured the boy over.

 

*****  

 

_-Friday, November 22, evening-_

 

 

“It’s all a bit ridiculous if you ask me,” Luna mused, acquiring the attention of the gathered students.

 

“Well, no one asked you, did they Loony,” one of the Ravenclaws snapped.

 

“Really, Georgie, there’s no need for that,” another girl hissed. “And she’s right, it is ridiculous.”

 

“It’s not,” growled the younger boy. “They have no business being here! I don’t care if the school charter says they have the right to learn magic, too. They should get their own school, and stop holding the rest of us back with all their dumb questions!”

 

“They’re not dumb questions!” another boy growled. “No question is dumb. Professor Flitwick even said so!”

 

“No,” agreed an older student. “There are only dumb people too stupid to ask their questions and listen to the answers,” he went on, glaring at the younger years who had started this argument in the middle of their common room, distracting all of them from their studies.

 

“Besides, if you actually looked at the test scores, you would see that, outside of our own house, muggle born and half-blood students actually tend to perform better than most pureblooded students,” Luna dared to tell them.

 

“That’s a lie!”

 

“You can check for yourself,” she mused, hardly perturbed by others’ disbelief. “Of course, you’ll have to go back and look at the scores from before the kidnappings. It’s not the muggle-borns and half-bloods who are dumbing down our education. It’s the purebloods. So, to that logic, if we were to have a separate school from that of the muggle-borns and half-bloods, it would actually out-perform Hogwarts, which is probably why one has never been built before.”

 

“Everyone knows muggle born have less magic and are just weaker.”

 

“Really? I didn’t,” Luna mused. “Can you prove it?”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Terry Boot said, the argument having successfully drawn in the prefects and other students now. “If you’re so sure, show us the research and data to support your claim. Who has more magic – muggle born, purebloods, or halfblood? Who’s stronger and more powerful in general magic? Who generally performs better on school tests, on OWLS and NEWTS.  We should also look at the old family magics, too. Not with the muggle-borns, of course, since they have no family magic, but we can compare purebloods with half-bloods, surely.

 

“Why couldn’t a muggle-born have any family magic?” a second year piped up.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” another girl hissed. “They have no family, so how would they have family magic?”

 

“Magic shouldn’t just come out of thin air!” the girl protested. “Isn’t there a way to see, to test and find out if we have any links to wizarding families?”

 

Terry frowned. “Good point. We’ll need someone to explore that, too. Might as well throw in our own search for where and why muggle-borns happen. It’s a lot to research, though, so we’ll need to split it up.”

 

“I can organize it,” Padma offered, stepping forward. “I personally think it will be a fascinating study and could quite possibly be used for future experiments and endeavors.”

 

Terry grinned at her. “Good, thanks, Padma. We’ll put a list up on the notice board. If you’re interested in participating in the study, let us know. Until then, let’s get back to our own work, shall we?” he added with a pointed look to the arguing first year who started it all. Muldoon was trouble, but every house has at least one trouble maker.

 

Luna, meanwhile, smiled to herself and slipped away from the common room, eager to share the news with Hermione. She was sure the head girl would be interested in the newest research project coming from the Raven’s tower, and since it was so close to curfew, she could just stay over. It was so very good to be alive.

 

*****

 

 

_-Sunday, November 24, mid-morning-_

Hermione sat at her preferred study table in the library, but she wasn’t getting much studying done. Her mind was caught up thinking about her parents’ invitation to Harry. She hadn’t told him, yet, that her parents had invited him over for the holidays. She wasn’t even sure what his plans were for this holiday. Then again, she hadn’t told her parents that her relationship with Harry wasn’t simply platonic any longer.

 

It wasn’t that she was actively trying to hide her relationship with Harry from her parents. It was more, she didn’t know how to really explain things. She understood that most of Hogwarts saw her and Harry as a couple, but they were so much more than boyfriend and girlfriend. And those terms didn’t even begin to explain Hannah and Luna and Neville.  She just knew if she tried to explain even just her relationship with Hannah or Luna, let alone both, her parents would be horrified. It wasn’t like polyamourous relationships were ever normal at any point in Britain’s history.

 

Her parents had taken the news and reality of their only daughter being a witch with superb British decorum. Stiff upper lip, nary a batting of the eye, and “I’ll go make us some tea, shall I?” Hermione smiled, fondly remembering the first time she’d met Professor McGonagall. Her mother had been more than a little put out at the professor’s calm, “Allow me,” before conjuring up a full tea tray. 

 

But her parents had always known or suspected that their daughter was… different. It wasn’t normal, after all, a nine month old throwing a tantrum and the nursery curtains catching on fire. Not that her parents had ever shared any of those stories of what they later learned were incidents of accidental magic until she was much older and had already started attending Hogwarts. Knowing now what she had put them through when she was younger… could she really ask them to deal with even more weirdness?

 

The only possible answer was she had to, of course. She couldn’t just take the decision away from them by hiding. She couldn’t just leave them behind. She hadn’t been ready to do that when she started Hogwarts, and she wasn’t ready to do that now. It would be different, if she had to stay away to protect them. She would even send them away if she thought it would protect them better. But she couldn’t protect them from the mess-up weird turn of events her life had taken.

 

“What has such a frown on your face?” Hannah ask, popping up out of seemingly nowhere.

 

“Thinking.”

 

“Aren’t you always,” the blonde teased, trying to coax a smile out of the other girl and frowning when she failed. “Really, Hermione, what’s wrong?”

 

“My parents sent a letter last week. It arrived with Hedwig.”

 

“I remember. We agreed that it was probably because she recognizes and acknowledges your bond with Harry.”

 

“Mmm,” Hermione agreed, remember the rather engaging theoretical conversation she, Luna, Neville, and Hannah had had about the affair that same day. “They asked to invite Harry over for the holidays.”

 

“Really? That was nice of them. What did Harry say? Do they know about…”

 

“No, I haven’t told them anything about what’s been happening this year, really. Especially nothing…pard related. I wouldn’t know what to say to them, and really, that’s not something one should be told in letter, don’t you think?” Hermione sighed. “I haven’t asked Harry his plans yet this year. Normally he stays over for the holidays, but this year,  he’s come into his inheritance and there are several properties he’s mentioned that he could stay at.”

 

“But he would be staying all alone,” Hannah frowned. “I was going to go home with Susan. We really haven’t had a lot of girl time together, and, well, I’d like to share with her more about what’s going on.”

 

“Do you think that’s wise?”

 

“It would be away from Hogwarts, and Susan and I never keep secrets from each other for so long. She’s been distracted this year, but I still feel pretty bad for not being completely truthful with her.”

 

“It’s your decision, of course. As long as you’re safe.”

 

“I will be; we will be,” Hannah promised. “I know Luna plans to go home to her father, and Neville spends the holidays with his gran. It’ll be strange being so far away from you all for so long.”

 

“It will,” Hermione mused. “Harry’s not been without one of us for so long. Not since school started.”

 

“All the more reason for him to go home with you,” Hannah pointed out. “I mean, he could try and go with Neville, but his gran’s a bit imposing, and Luna, while I love her dearly, her father is… he has just never been the same since her mother was killed in a home accident.”

 

“I didn’t know that,” Hermione murmured. “How did you know her mother was killed?”

 

“Raised in the wizarding world,” Hannah reminded her. “It was a big thing because Selena Lovegood was supposedly a really good enchantress. She enchanted my parents’ wedding rings,” she added, pulling out a thin chain from around her neck and the two simple gold bands dangling from it.

 

“I’ve never noticed them before.”

 

“I don’t wear them all the time.” Hannah smiled sadly and tucked them back away. “Anyway, I think you should go ask Harry now. Even if he was planning at staying at one of his other properties, he should still go home with you for the holidays. It would be good for your parents to get to meet him, too; get used to him a bit before announcing they’re going to be grandparents.”

 

Hannah grinned and Hermione groaned. “I think I might take your advice and postpone telling them until it’s more relevant. After all, I’m not going to be showing, the baby won’t be growing, so…”

 

“Do you really think you could keep something like that from your mum and dad?” Hannah wondered curiously.

 

Hermione slumped with a sigh. “No, I don’t know. Maybe, but I’d feel pretty terrible about it.”

 

“Yeah, I kind of figured you would. So don’t. Bring Harry home with you, let them get to know him, and then before you leave, let them know you’re pregnant but you won’t be having the baby until after NEWTS. Then they’ll have until Easter hols to adjust to the idea.”

 

“Sneaky,” Hermione teased.

 

“Bah, not at all. Just good at trying to mitigate punishments and reprisals,” the blonde retorted with a wink. “Come on, if you’re not doing any real studying up here, let’s go check in on the boys and see what they’re up to.”

 

“I believe Harry was going to be spending some time with the Defense group this morning.”

 

“Well, then, you know where he is, no point in waiting any longer to ask him to go home with you for the holidays. Come on,” Hannah bossed, helping the head girl pack up her books and materials with a flick of her wand and then tugging her out of the library.

 

It wasn’t that far from the library entrance to the Defense study room. It wasn’t the Room of Requirement, which was still used for DA meetings. Instead, this room was on the third floor, just down from the Defense classroom. There were a few chairs and tables, but primarily there were target boxes marked up on the wall.

 

“There you go,” Harry was saying when they walked in. “Keep your body relaxed, ready to move in any direction, but keep your wand movements short and concise. Avoid any foolishly big wand waving. It’ll save time and energy, not to mention, you won’t be forecasting your spells to your opponents.  It’s why you start learning nonverbal casting once you pass your OWLS.”

 

“Thanks, Harry.”

 

“No probably, Jameel. Keep practicing, and next time you’ll win your duel for sure.”

 

The second year Slytherin all but beamed at him before Harry turned away, finally noticing Hannah and Hermione just inside the doorway. “Hey,” he greeted as he approached them.  “Everything okay?”

 

“Everything’s fine,” Hannah replied quickly, knowing how Harry could worry about them. “But Hermione here has a question for you, so I’ll let her ask while I fill in for you.”

 

Harry wasn’t given the chance to question or even thank the other girl as she ducked around him and intercepted another second year who was aiming to get Harry’s attention.

 

“What is it?” Harry asked, turning away from the room to give his full attention to Hermione. They had just had breakfast together not even an hour ago, and she hadn’t said anything to him them, which would have been a fine time to ask him whatever it was she wanted to ask him. Not to mention before that, while they were still in their chambers, or at any time in the last forty-eight hours. And for the life of him, he couldn’t think what could have happened within the last hour that would cause Hermione to come seeking him out with a question. It wasn’t like Hermione was shy about asking questions.

 

“Well, as you know, my parents wrote me last week,” she began. He nodded without saying anything, waiting for her to continue. “My mum wanted me to invite you over for the holidays, if you didn’t have anything else planned that is, and I know you have several properties you inherited that you wanted to check out, but Hannah did point out that it would be kind of a good idea for you to meet and get to know my parents before anything more progresses. I mean, we’ll have to decide what to tell them, obviously not the whole truth, not at first. It’s a bit much to accept. But we could work them up to it, and I’d really like them to be there when I’m ready to have children, so i—“

 

Hermione’s senses seemed to freeze…until she heard someone whistle and catcall from within the room. Snapping out of her shock, she stepped away from Harry and mock-glared at him, biting her kissed-bruised lips. “What was that for?”

 

Harry grinned at her unrepentantly. “Someone told me the quickest way to get a person to stop talking was to simply kiss them quiet. Glad to see it works.  Besides, you were working yourself up into a tizzy. Couldn’t even understand half the words coming out of your mouth at the end there.”

 

“Holidays,” Hermione repeated. “My parents are inviting you over for the holidays.”

 

“Oh. Wow.” Harry took another step back. “Okay.  Um…”  He looked back at her, more than a little panicked.  “I’ve only ever really met and stayed over with Ron before, and, well, I mean, it’s not like we ever, you know, slept together, or anything. I mean, we shared a dorm, but—“

 

“I know what you mean, Harry.” Hermione sighed. “That’s not the issue.”

 

“Yeah, well, it kind of is. I mean, you’re asking me to meet your parents, and, well, I mean, that’s, uh, yeah.”

 

“They don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “About us, I mean. Me and you. They don’t know yet, but I’d like to tell them, but the end of the holidays at the very latest. Not about anything else yet, but I think they should at least know I’m involved in a serious, long-term relationship now.”

 

“Yeah, I can see how that might be important to them.”

 

“And it would be nice if you were there.”

 

“Okay, well, just to be safe, your dad wasn’t ever in the service or own any hunting rifles, right?”

 

“He’s a dentist.”

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty terrifying, too,” Harry admitted, grinning a bit wryly. “You know, we could probably scare off all the purebloods by telling them about what your parents do for a living. Imaging, making a living out of torturing people—drilling holes in their teeth, pulling teeth out…” Harry shivered. “Voldemort might actually try to recruit them.”

 

“Don’t even joke about that,” Hermione hissed, smacking his arm none-too-lightly. “So you’ll come home with me? I’ll let my mum know?”

 

“If that’s what you want, then of course I will. I’ll need to stop in and visit Andromeda and Remus, and I wanted to tour some of the Black estates, but we should have enough time to do all that, right?”

 

“We? You want me to come with you?” Hermione asked, surprised and also gratified.

 

“Well, of course,” Harry replied with a teasing grin. “Don’t you want a say in picking out the pard’s new home? I’m hoping one of the Black Estates will do, because the Potters don’t have that many properties. But if none of them meet our needs, well, then Neville’s offered us to look through the Longbottom holdings, and if we still can’t find anything, then we’ll just pull our resources and buy something or have it built.” “You’ve given this some thought,” Hermione said, impressed.

 

“Some,” Harry admitted. “Neville and I have had more than a few late nights.”

 

A small smile pulled at her lips as she leaned casually into him. “I’m glad he’s there for you.”

 

“He’s there for you, too,” Harry told her, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. “He wants to be there for you, too.”

 

“I know, and one day I’ll be ready for that, but just not yet,” Hermione admitted, pulling away just a bit. “You and Ron were my very first friends, Harry, and although I’m friendly with others, there’s not really many I actually consider my friends. Hannah, now, and even Luna. And Neville, to some extent, too. Just give me a little time, please? I trust you; it’s not that I don’t. I just need a little bit more time to adjust.  I’m going to go and write that letter now. Do you mind if I use Hedwig to deliver it?”

 

“No, that’s fine. See you at lunch?”

 

“Definitely,” Hermione agreed with a smile, and daringly, she darted forward and pressed a quick peck to his check with a whispered, “Thanks,” before darting back out the door.

 

“Nicely done, Potter,” Hannah told him as she past him, breezing out the door after the head girl. A bemused Harry turned back to the room at large to see the eight occupants all blatantly watching him.

 

“As you were,” he called, snapping them back to their practice.

 

 

 

 

Still more to come…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments, questions, and constructive criticism are welcome. This story is a SLOW work in progress and subject to editing and revision upon the author's discretion. Thanks for reading!


	23. -A Slytherin Approach-

~THEN~ 

“Holidays,” Hermione said. “My parents are inviting you over for the holidays. They don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “About us, I mean. Me and you. They don’t know yet, but I’d like to tell them, by the end of the holidays at the very latest. Not about anything else yet, but I think they should at least know I’m involved in a serious, long-term relationship now.” 

“Yeah, I can see how that might be important to them.” 

“And it would be nice if you were there.” 

“Okay, well, just to be safe, your dad wasn’t every in the service or own any hunting rifles, right?” 

“He’s a dentist.” 

“Yeah, that’s pretty terrifying, too,” Harry admitted, grinning a bit wryly. “If it’s what you want, then of course I will. I’ll need to stop in and visit Andromeda and Remus, and I wanted to tour some of the Black estates, but we should have enough time to do all that, right?” 

 

~NOW~  
\- November Hogwarts- 

It was Monday again. Only two more weeks until term end. He’d spent a good portion of these past weeks observing his new interest rather than attending to his classes. His grades had suffered slightly, but nothing he couldn’t make up the slack for with a bit of cramming, he hoped. Besides, it wasn’t as if Fall term grades mattered all that much. It was the NEWT scores most employers looked at. Not that he needed to worry overly much about employers. 

No, his future had most assuredly been to be taking over the conglomerate his mother had acquired throughout her lifetime. But, even then, that was not likely to happen anymore, not since they had discovered he had inherited his mother’s curse. He knew there was very little hope of beating it. His mother had tried, when she was young—had almost succeeded, but then his father had been murdered. There was no point in him even trying to beat his curse. At least, that’s what he had believed until the new school year started and he sensed it. 

It was… intoxicating. Alluring, and for the first time he was able to experience what he thought his mother’s victims must…. That burning desire to be closer to a person, to have their attention on you, to have them feast of your body and flesh. It hadn’t started all at once. No, that was the most annoying aspect of it---the scent slowly teased him, sometimes there, sometimes not, and he wasn’t sure who was emitting the pheromones. He knew, of course, it wasn’t anyone in his own house. By the end of September, he’d eliminated anyone from Ravenclaw and was working his way through the sixth and seventh year Hufflepuffs. The scent had grown steadily stronger as the days passed, tormenting him, until finally-finally—he discovered who was sending it off. 

Potter. 

And it was almost too bloody obvious that the boy in question had absolutely no fucking clue he was doing it, either. It nearly drove him spare. 

At first, he really did think Potter was like him, suffering from the touch of the levifold, an incubus or succubus, depending on which form they took. His mother was only able to assume the one form. Blaise wasn’t sure why he could assume both. It had been rather a shock to wake up one morning in the body of a female. It had taken him nearly three months of practice to be able to control his body’s shifting from male to female by direction rather than whim. It had taken far longer for him to be able to control his allure, and he’d claimed the virginity of many a Hogwarts students—of either sex. 

He was a bit disappointed to determine that Potter wasn’t also of lethifold descent, although it was nice not to have to share a feeding ground, he had been hoping to potentially use the boy-wonder to slate his own hunger and potentially slack his own curse. But, no. Potter didn’t go around, leaving a string of satisfied over-sexed teenagers in his wake like Blaise had the previous year. Instead, he seemed to attach himself to only four others. Granger, he understood. And it was reported that Potter and Lovegood had an interesting friendship, so even that wasn’t surprising to him. The inclusion of Abbot and Longbottom, however, did confuse him. 

At first, he believed as the rest of the school was led to believe, that it was Abbott and Longbottom who were the couple, but Blaise’s senses wouldn’t steer him wrong. Both teens smelt too much of Potter to be anything other than his. He could smell the sex and sweat, and more importantly, the semen on them, in them. Both of them. Which told him Neville Longbottom was on more than just friendly terms with the head boy. He wasn’t just a dorm mate. Oh, no. In fact, if Blaise’s senses were to be trusted—and they were—he would estimate the Longbottom heir giving up to Potter at least three nights out of four. Longbottom fairly reeked of Potter’s scent. But it was curious—so did the girls. So, was Potter attracted to both sexes, then? It would certainly make his campaign easier—a welcome thing now that it had suddenly seemed to get more difficult. 

Since the attack on Hogsmeade and finally finding the source of his attracting distraction, Blaise had been studying the group, watching their interactions and movements. He could sense the different power fluctuations amongst them—knew who their weakest member was, so to speak. He also could sense that two of the girls were currently with child, a very new and recent event that surprised him greatly. Normally, Hogwarts went to great lengths to ensure the students did not become embroiled in unwanted pregnancies during the school year. Bad for business and all that. 

He engaged briefly with each member of Potter’s circle, individually. It was more interaction and work than he’d ever put into a conquest, but if he played his cards right, it would potentially be his last conquest. It looked as if Potter was building himself a circle, which meant there were only a limited number of spots available, and if he were able to get himself one… that much sexual energy would keep him well satiated without having to track down victims. And even better, his one-on-one interactions and observations of the group led him to believe he could be fairly content with them. 

He needed only to execute his plans with the utmost care and delicacy and then he should see success. He wasn’t a Slytherin for anything, after all. Ambition and cunning. He would certainly need both in spades to pull this off. 

He started with his queen, purposefully making himself available in the library on several occasions. Anyone who visited the library regularly knew Granger had a preferred location. It was easy to incorporate himself into her notice simply by speaking up where previously he would have remained silent. Some of his housemates, of course, noticed his new interest, and weren’t so quick to dismiss it. He dealt with them as he always had—either with chilling silence or breathless seduction that left them dazed and confused. 

Let it not be said he didn’t know how to get his own amusement out of any situation, and, after all, he did need to keep his energies up. Food only satisfied the palate. It did nothing for the soul. The more he interacted with the head girl, the more he found himself coming to be honestly amused by her. It was unexpected, but welcomed. And she did tend to be ensnarled in the most fascinating debates. 

Take the most recent Ravenclaw study. 

He was in the library when the Ravenclaw Patil approached Granger, and he unabashedly listened in on their conversation. 

“Hermione, I was wondering if you could help me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Only, I know you organized the DA, and you were brilliant at it, and then all the scheduling this year—I’m finding it difficult to just get started.” 

“Is this about the muggle-born study?” 

“You know about it already?” 

“Luna told us,” she explained. 

“Of course. Well, let me show you what we have so far.” 

Blaise was intrigued, to say the least. The Ravenclaws always had some study or another going on. It wasn’t that unusual. But this was the first he’d heard of them actually studying muggle born. He wondered what it was about. 

“Mm, yes, but test scores really isn’t an indication of magical power or ability,” Hermione said. “It only makes sense that muggle born and half bloods raised in the muggle world would perform better at tests and writing papers. Many have been doing so in their primary schools since they were six or seven. My understanding is that many purebloods don’t send their children to school until Hogwarts.” 

“That’s true, but it’s still something we wanted to show.” 

“Well, if anything, it might prove the need for a wizarding primary school,” Hermione allowed. “And what else were you looking into?” 

“Well, as you said, we need a way to test for magical ability and power. We also wanted to try and find out if any muggle born actually have ties to the magical world.” 

“You would need an inheritance or genealogy test for that. I’m sure there must be a charm or potion we could use.” 

“The goblins have a ritual they’ll do for a fee.” 

“Which is not very reasonable for students who are stuck here at Hogwarts.” 

“True.” 

“What about a way to test for magical ability or power? Is there something like that in the wizarding world?” 

“Again, a test the goblins could do upon request,” Blaise spoke up. “A few blood tests will tell you not only what wizarding families are in your ancestral tree but also what abilities you are potentially capable of. A power test, for that you would want a focal stone.” 

“A focal stone? What’s that?” 

“It was used long ago to help families determine if their children had magic. You would touch the stone, focusing on it, and the stone would resonate with the intensity of your magic. Those with little or no magic would produce a faint, tinny sound. Those with strong magic would produce a deep, rumbling sound. Or so I’m told.” 

“And what happened to the children who produced no sound?” Hermione asked shrewdly. 

“They were disposed of,” Blaise told her calmly, seeing no reason to sugar-coat the atrocities of their world’s history. “Some were left in the muggle world, to fend for themselves. A chance at survival in a world where they wouldn’t be surrounded by magic they could never wield. Others were simply put to sleep eternally.” 

“That’s horrible.” 

“Depending on who you talked to, it was considered the more humane of the choices—to know magic existed and never be able to use it… or to be moved on to the next adventure and hopefully be reborn with magic.” Since he’d already gained their attention, he stood and crossed over to the table where the two girls sat, blatantly looking over the papers Patil had laid out. “You might also want to take a look at the number of children produced. I know a recent complaint is that there are more muggle born and half-bloods now than ever, but what I’ve not heard anyone say is that there’s really just less pure bloods, not more of the others.” 

“War will do that,” Hermione pointed out. 

“Yes, but isn’t it odd that a war that was supposedly about blood supremacy resulted in less pure blooded children being born?” he posed. 

“Perhaps,” the head girl allowed. “I think it would be interesting to see if there’s a trend in population. Especially knowing what’s been happening in the muggle world in the last two hundred years or so.” 

“We have enough to look at,” Padma agreed. “But we still need people to actually do the research and answer our questions.” 

“Yes, well, if you have these categories set up, and you have a suggested plan for how to go about collecting the data, that it shouldn’t be too difficult. Ask for volunteers, remind them to collected the data requested. Have another group analyze the data collected and report their findings at a scheduled debrief. Also, leave space for anyone to be able to tweak the assessment process.” 

“What is it you’re hoping to find?” Blaise couldn’t help but ask. 

“Hopefully, the truth,” Padma huffed. She rolled her eyes towards Hermione. Hermione shrugged. 

** 

Granger was, by far, the easiest to approach. Ironic almost, that the other three were all from the magical world, like him. Still, he shared the most classes with the head girl, and her predictability allowed him assured access. He tried for Longbottom next. 

It was the logical choice, he felt, although they only shared three classes together: charms, transfiguration, and DADA. Blaise believed that once he gained Granger’s and Longbottom’s acceptance, the other two would be more likely to fall in place. It was faulty, but he wasn’t to know that right away. In the immediate time frame, he knew that Granger and Longbottom were the more powerful, magically speaking. Yes, he could sense that thanks to his in heritance. It was important to know who one could afford to skim a little energy from without out-right killing. 

Generally, the more magically gifted tended to hold up better to repeated exposure. Blaise wasn’t so far go in his inheritance to actually actively seek out to destroy other’s lives, crippling them as he drained them of all energy and will to live. He frankly thought such a state was disgusting, such lack of contract detestable, and he hoped never to sink so low. He knew his mother had turned her insatiable appetite onto men who she deemed unworthy to continue living. Many of her ex-husbands were very bad men who used their money and influence to get away with their crimes. They never managed to escape his mother, though. It was how she lived with her curse. 

Blaise still hoped for better for himself. 

He avoided approaching either Abbott or Longbottom in the Defense study hall. Everyone knew that was Harry’s domain, where he was more likely to be found while inside the castle. It just worked out that the same three classes he shared with Longbottom, he also shared with Abbott. So when he wasn’t actively pursuing the head girl, he took turns in the Charms or Transfiguration study rooms. Both subjects he was more than passably good at, and his presence in the study rooms saw his attention and skills sought out more than he would have liked. Unless he was actively pursuing a conquest, he did generally prefer to be left alone. 

He certainly hoped all this effort and sacrifice paid off for him. Several times already he’d found himself lost in day dreams, anticipating what it might be like to be with one or all of the circle. It made for some uncomfortably tight situations at awkward points in the day. Like right now. 

He had chosen to sit up in the charms study room, knowing that there was a paper due this week in preparation for the upcoming exams. He had finished his paper already, but he was hopeful to have an encounter with Longbottom or Abbott. He didn’t mind which one. In fact, his mind was happily supplying him with a scenario of both of them. 

He imagined Abbott laid out before him, her skirt bunched around her waist, her panties around her knees, his face buried in her sex, licking and sucking her while Longbottom bottomed out behind him, filling him up with every deep, hard thrust, forcing him to moan and grunt as he continued to feast from Abbott. 

“You okay, Zabini?” a voice broke into his fantasy, causing him to shiver and gasp. 

“Fine, thank you,” he answered, more than a little breathless, looking up in the concerned face of the boy he was just fantasizing about. “You?” 

“Yeah, fine. Hey, Hannah and I were going to practice some of our charms in preparation for next week’s test. You want to join us?” 

“I would love to,” he purred, wondering how soon was too soon to show them the restraining charm that would hold someone in place so you could have your wicked way with them. Or the slew of other charms he knew and learned to assist him in his sexual pursuits. 

Not yet, but soon, he thought, smiling charmingly at Abbott as he followed Longbottom over to the table where they’d set up. 

** 

The one he anticipated the most trouble tracking down was the sixth year Ravenclaw. Not only were they in different years but they were in different houses. Added to that minor complication was the very real challenge of the girl’s eccentric schedule. A little bit of snooping and digging had confirmed she was in several of the same NEWT subjects as him, but he never saw her in any of the study rooms. Nor was she in the library when he looked. In fact, the only place he was ever assured of spying her was in the great hall for breakfast and dinner. 

He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do to approach her and gain her trust. He supposed he could try ingratiating himself to her in front of the others during DA meetings. The others were already somewhat used to him. He was nearly ready to approach Potter. He was sure he could seduce the head boy into allowing him to join their circle, but he just knew it would be easier if he had the support of those already there. 

“You’re going about it backwards.” 

Blaise froze, not having realized anyone else was in this corridor. There was no one ahead of him, so he slowly turned around, looking back at the stretch he had just passed. It, too, was empty. He was hard pressed to repress a frown. He had clearly heard the child-like soft voice. He was fairly sure he recognized it as the Lovegood girl’s, although she didn’t often speak very much that he’d observed. 

A giggle sounded, and this time he was able to track it to a tapestry on his left. He pulled the material aside, only slightly surprised to find a hidden room behind it. Seven years wasn’t enough time to lean all of the secrets of Hogwarts, but it was still surprising to come across a hidden room. 

“Hello, Blaise Zabini,” the blonde girl greeted. “You’ve been looking for me.” 

He nodded, but didn’t move to join her. “You said I’m going about it backwards?” he questioned instead. 

She smiled at him, and it looked like she was ready to giggle again. He hoped not, he was not overly fond of giggling girls. Moaning and groaning, occasionally screaming girls, yes. 

“You’ve been following us,” she announced. “The others are beginning to notice. It will go one of two possible ways,” she continued. “They will either feel threatened, or your position will be considered. If it is decided you are a threat, that threat will be eliminated.” 

Blaise actually felt a fissure of fear slide down his spine at that announcement. “I do not mean to be a threat to you.” 

“It is not us you must first convince,” Luna informed him. “It is Harry.”

He frowned. “What is he? He is neither night fury nor fawn, but he did have a magical creature inheritance. I can sense it.” 

She nodded at him again, smiling still. “You should go talk to Harry. It is he who will decide.” 

“And will he think me a threat?” Blaise wanted to know. Many would, he knew, simply for what he was, what he had become. After all, he was a creature that fed off of sex. He could literally kill someone by loving them too much. A circle that was already involved, however, had a strong likelihood of sustaining him without too much detrimental side effects to the others.

“Are you a threat to us?” Luna returned. 

“I don’t mean to be,” he answered honestly. 

“And can you give of yourself freely? Support those when they need your assistance? Sustain those when they need succor. Accept assistance when it is offered? Love freely and without resistance?” 

Blaise stared at her, mind screeching to a halt before rushing forward, trying to take in all that she was implying. No, not implying. Flat out stating. 

Her head tilted to the side, her long silvery blonde hair falling down her chest and into her lap. “When you have decided, seek out Harry. Then you can stop these games you’re playing with the others. Until then, Blaise Zabini. Good bye.” 

He realized he was dismissed, and he stepped back, allowing the tapestry to fall back in place. Obviously he had some more thinking to do, but he was fairly sure what his answer would be. This was his chance at possible future happiness—or if not right out happiness, at least contentedness. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that pass without making some attempt to seize it for himself. 

Could he give of himself freely? Yes, he could offer assistance to those who needed it. He could accept assistance when it was offered. He wasn’t sure what she meant by sustaining others. It was he who needed help there, that he could see. Could he love? Freely and without resistance, she had said, and he suspected she did mean love as in the emotion and not just the act. 

Could he love? It wasn’t impossible, that much he knew. His mother had loved his father, though he had been a regular wizard with no creature in heritance. In fact, he had been a muggle-born, something not many, if any, of his house mates knew. But she had loved him, fiercely, passionately. And he had loved her; loved her enough to accept what her nature was and required of her. She went out and slacked her need and lust by feeding off those in the seedier portions of the city, drinking in their passions as she passed by. And then she had returned home to her husband and relieved those passions with him. When they had discovered she was going into heat, they had ensured they had everything that would allow Alejandro to see to his wife’s needs, and shortly thereafter, they had discovered the news that they had conceived. 

Blaise had never met his father. The man had been murdered before he was born. But he knew his mother had loved him desperately. Still, even to this day, whenever she spoke of his father it was plain to see how much she had adored him, and her stories of him relayed that same adoration. So he knew they were capable of loving. He loved his mother, and his mother loved him, but she never loved anyone else. The numerous husbands she had taken over the years were never for love. It had saddened him, growing up. 

Now he had an opportunity, a chance for the happiness his mother had known with his father. He didn’t love Potter or any of his circle, but that wasn’t to say he couldn’t love them, didn’t want to possibly love them. He already knew he was attracted to them. He could tolerate being around them. That was a start. 

Could he love? Yes, he could. Freely and without resistance? Giving all of himself? That was a whole other issue. 

Lovegood had given him much to think about, and think he would. He would have to. Exams were fast approaching, and afterwards were the holidays. Blaise hoped to approach Harry before they left. That didn’t give him very much time, but he would have to make it do.

*** 

It was December already. They had but four weeks left of the calendar year. As the students geared up for the first exams of the school year, talk of holiday plans were rampant. Since Hogsmeade trips were currently canceled, many students had requested catalogs from the different shops and stores. They were passed around with more fever than an issue of the Quibbler during Harry’s fifth year. More owls were sent off every day with requests, and every day more and more owls returned with wrapped parcels and gifts. 

Even though they were planning to head to some muggle shops when they got off on holidays, Harry and Hermione had also ordered plenty of items from the catalogs. 

“Here, Luna,” Hermione called, holding out one of the packages that had arrive for her this morning. “I picked this up with you in mind.” 

“Really?” the Ravenclaw asked delightedly. “And it’s not even my birthday!” 

“You should make her wait till Christmas,” Hannah teased, laughing when Luna stuck her tongue out at her. 

“It’s not really a Christmas gift,” Hermione replied. “Besides, I thought we would wait to exchange Christmas gifts until we were all back together again.” 

“Boxing day,” Luna interjected. “We should get together for Boxing Day.”

“You know Neville won’t be able to,” Hannah frowned, wondering if there was a way she could manage to join Neville at the hospital this year. 

Hermione frowned as well. “Neville shouldn’t have to go visit his parents alone.” 

“Which is why we should all get together,” Luna pointed out. 

“Okay, fair point. I’ll mention it to Harry and my parents.” 

“Good. Oh! Sugar quills,” the blonde called out delightedly. “Thank you, Hermione.” 

“As I said, not really a Christmas gift, but a gift none the less.” 

“I think I could get used to being spoiled.” 

“Speaking of getting used to things, has anyone else noticed Zabini’s backed off recently?” Hannah asked, looking at the other two girls. 

“He’s still there,” Hermione corrected, “But you’re right, he hasn’t been as forward as he was. Barely said five words to me in the last three days.” 

“I might have said something to him,” Luna admitted. Both girls tried to get her to continue with their looks, but it didn’t work. 

“Well?” Hermione finally broke. “What did you say to him?” 

“Only that we’d noticed him sniffing around and he was going about it the wrong way.” 

“So, you really think he’s serious?” Hannah asked, more than a little bemused. After all, Zabini had quite the reputation amongst the upper classmen. It’s what had worried them when they realized he was starting to pay them all more attention than usual. 

“I told him he needed to go to Harry, not us.” 

“Was that wise?” worried Hermione. 

“Do you think he’ll actually do it?” Hannah wanted to know. “Some of the stories I’ve heard about him, they’re pretty fantastic.” 

“He is his mother’s child,” Luna told them with a negligent shrug. “He seeks what we all do: happiness, or at least a chance at it.” 

“Will he really approach Harry, then, do you think?” Hermione wondered, worrying her lip. She’d known eventually they would be welcoming more new people into their pard, but she wasn’t sure how ready she was just yet. Everything was made more complicated by the fact they were supposed to go in to see Madame Pomphrey tomorrow and have the conception status spell cast. The potion necessary wouldn’t be ready until too late tonight, so tomorrow it had to be. 

“Fairly sure,” Luna confirmed. “But if not, well, I might have suggested to Harry he speak with him. I’m not sure if Harry’s cat will accept him or not.” 

“Really?” Hannah asked surprised. “Why not?” 

“I don’t know. I can only sense possibilities where Zabini is concerned. We’ll just have to wait and see, I suppose.” 

“Pooh,” Hannah pouted. “Sometimes I wish I had super magical powers like you guys.” 

“No, you don’t,” Hermione countered. “You wouldn’t be you if you did, and we like you just the way you are!” 

“Auh, you’re so sweet,” the Hufflepuff teased. “Did you happen to get me a present, too?” 

The head girl tossed several chocolate frogs at her. “Don’t eat them all at once. I have good suspicions that Harry plans on getting us all a selection of Honeydukes’ chocolate for Christmas.” 

“Really? However do you figure?” Hannah asked, already tearing into her magical frog. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.” 

“I may or may not have mentioned how a woman’s body goes through impressive fluctuations during pregnancy, even more severe than while she’s experiencing her time of month, and how chocolate has been known to have curative properties, especially in helping to regulate a woman’s hormones, which is why so many women are chocoholics.” 

“Hermione Granger!” Hannah practically scolded before busting out into a huge grin. “I think I love you!” she cried, diving across the sofa and glomping the other girl. 

***** 

He didn’t have much time left if he was going to succeed with his original timeline. The students would be boarding the Hogwarts Express bound for London and the start of their holidays next Thursday. It wasn’t enough time. How was he supposed to convince Harry he wasn’t a threat to his circle, when he knew, potentially, he was. Except he didn’t mean to be. He wasn’t naive as some of the others. He knew Potter wasn’t all sweet and innocent, the blind golden hero. He didn’t look down on the boy for his seeming ignorance of the customs and ways of the wizarding world. He knew ignorance wasn’t always a sign of weakness. And that was definitely the case with Potter. Potter was not weak, not by any means. 

Nor was he stupid, he thought, his chest tightening as he turned into a new corridor and saw what was waiting up ahead for him. It was likely no coincidence, the way Potter and Longbottom were oh, so casually leaning up against the wall quietly talking in the corridor Blaise just happened to be walking down. And he didn’t think anyone else was around. This could be good, or very, very bad, Blaise decided, stopping several feet away, watching warily as Potter folded up a bit of parchment and stuffed it away. 

“Luna seems to think we need to speak.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mmn. Thing about Luna is, she’s usually right,” Potter continued, turning to face Blaise proper. “So, what do you need?” 

Blaise was honestly tongue-tied, standing there, faced off with the two Gryffindors. Physically, Longbottom was entirely more intimidating—broad shouldered and fit. Magically, there was no denying Potter was the more intimidating of the two. He could try and treat this as a normal seduction, but there was nothing normal about Potter. There never could be. Besides which, Blaise was hoping to have something more than just a normal encounter with the head boy. 

He was hoping to be invited in to join Potter’s circle, or coven if that is what they were building, and it seemed more and more certain that they were. He just had to convince them he wasn’t a threat. 

“Zabini? You okay?” Potter asked, taking a step closer, and the same wave of pheromones that had been driving him crazy all school year swam up over him and swallowed him in their intoxicating allure. His eyes fluttered, a wanton moan pulled from his throat, as he felt his tightly held control waver, as shaky as his knees suddenly were. 

“I want in,” he managed to gasp, suddenly panting as if he had run up all seven flights of stairs. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, but please accept me,” the Slytherin actually humbled himself, knowing of no other way to show his sincerity to the other two. 

 

***** 

 

Still to come…


	24. A New Member?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaise appeals to the pard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story warnings heavily apply to this chapter, implied and specified.

A New Member?

~THEN~ 

 

Blaise was honestly tongue-tied, standing there, faced off with the two Gryffindors. Physically, Longbottom was entirely more intimidating—broad shouldered and fit. Magically, there was no denying Potter was the more intimidating of the two. He could try and treat this as a normal seduction, but there was nothing normal about Potter. There never could be. Besides which, Blaise was hoping to have something more than just a normal encounter with the head boy. 

He was hoping to be invited in to join Potter’s circle, or coven if that is what they were building, and it seemed more and more certain that they were. He just had to convince them he wasn’t a threat. 

“Zabini? You okay?” Potter asked, taking a step closer, and the same wave of pheromones that had been driving him crazy all school year swam up over him and swallowed him in their intoxicating allure. His eyes fluttered, a wanton moan pulled from his throat, as he felt his tightly held control waver, as shaky as his knees suddenly were. 

“I want in,” he managed to gasp, suddenly panting as if he had run up all seven flights of stairs. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, but please accept me,” the Slytherin actually humbled himself, knowing of no other way to show his sincerity to the other two. 

 

~NOW~  
\- Monday, December 1, Hogwarts- 

Things had been going… well enough, considering, Harry supposed. 

Sure, he was still having regular nightmares, mental field trips to Death Eater revels, and that sucked sour dragon eggs, for sure. Being forced to watch helplessly as young men and women were tortured and raped repeatedly was not an enjoyable pastime by any means. And the utter depravity of some of those beasts made him sick. The fact that he actually experienced Voldemort’s amusement and approval during these night visions left him waking up feeling dirtied to his very soul. Many of the images still continued to haunt him, as if they had been burnt into his mind and left to scar—Images like those from the other night when two of the death eaters had brought their dogs with them to one of the houses and set them on two tied down victims. 

Those were the details he couldn’t even begin to force himself to repeat to anyone. Not Neville. Not the headmaster. No one. 

And the Daily Prophet was, as always, a ray of sunshine with its near-daily reports of attacks and raids and horrors abound. Another muggle township experiencing a series of tragedies. Another family attacked, the dark mark hanging in the air over the burnt out remains of a house. Reports of missing persons began to take up an entire page before the end of November. Right across from the obituaries. But that was all outside of Hogwarts. 

As far as many of the students were considered, by the time December had started, everything was pretty much back to the same-old, same-old really. Even family members and friends of the missing and lost students had begun to settle back into the day-in day-out routine life of a Hogwarts student, and that was good. Things had seemed to be going good. 

For his pard, as well, things seemed to be going well. The girls were rather happy and agreeable. Neville was as dependable as always. He was coming along in his classes, his workload being handled. He still stopped in once or twice a week to chat with the headmaster, just as he knew Hermione occasionally did with McGonagall. They had brushed briefly on his… rather unusual inheritance, but mostly Dumbledore had been rather calm and accepting. Of course, the man had other important things on his mind to worry about, Harry knew, other than his love life and daily drama. 

No, things were good. So what if he was a little unsettled about visiting the hospital wing tomorrow so Madame Pomphrey could give Hermione and Hannah the potion and perform the stasis spell that would suspend and protect their pregnancies? So what if he was more than just a little nervous to be heading home with Hermione for the holidays and essentially meeting his future in-laws, even if they might not know it yet. And, yeah, nervous didn’t even begin to describe it when he thought about having to tell her parents that she was currently pregnant. No, not good. Not good at all. 

But otherwise, things were pretty damn near great in Harry Potter’s world. Seriously. He was looking forward to finishing up his exams and enjoying the holiday break away from Hogwarts for once. 

So when Luna had mentioned that he should talk with Blaise Zabini—although, not as plainly as all that. When was Luna ever really plainly spoken?—he’d become immediately nervous. Nothing good lasted, at least not in Harry’s experience. So he didn’t waste much time in snagging Neville and tracking down the mysterious Slytherin that same evening. 

With the map, it wasn’t difficult at all. A few subtle redirecting and repelling wards down one corridor or another, and Zabini came straight to them. He stuffed the map away as Zabini got closer, and waited for him to stop before speaking. 

“Luna seems to think we need to speak,” he opened, hoping to let him know he wasn’t here to cause trouble. Quite the opposite actually. He’d had several kids approach him after his address to the houses, kids whose families were caught in Voldemort’s trap and wanted protection. He’d been waiting and expecting and hoping for a few more kids from Slytherin to come find him, but he knew many would try and find their own way. Too proud. He was surprised to see Zabini, though. As far as he knew, Zabini was pretty neutral in the conflict. 

“Oh?” 

Harry resisted rolling his eyes—Andromeda had spent too many hours last summer attempting to smack that ‘horribly plebian habit’ from him. At least when dealing with Slytherins—or any pompous folks, he’d discovered—it helped to pretend like Andromeda was standing right there, ready with a stinging hex. 

“Thing about Luna is, she’s usually right,” Harry continued, turning to face Zabini properly. “So, what do you need?” 

The olive-skinned Slytherin was quiet, seemingly blank, but Harry knew that was just a mask to hide his thoughts. He wondered what the other boy would say. Would he ask him for help, or was it something else he wanted, needed from him? He wouldn’t deny the boy right out—not unless it was something completely out of his control or ability—but he would hear him out and try to help him. 

“Zabini? You okay?” Harry asked, taking a step closer, when the other boy continued to remain silent. He shot a concerned look towards Neville when Zabini seemed to falter in front of them, shutting his eyes and actually groaning. Harry wondered if he’d been hexed or something and was bout ready to rush forward to grab and steady him, when those dark eyes snapped open and he finally spoke. 

“I want in,” Zabini gasped, suddenly panting as if he had run up all seven flights of stairs. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it, but please accept me,” the Slytherin actually begged, shocking the breath from Harry. 

He stepped back, stepped into Neville’s stolid support, felt his warmth radiate behind him and bolster his own composure. Zabini took a faltering step forward, as if to make up for the measly distance Harry had created. 

“Please,” Zabini said again, licking his lips. 

“I don’t understand,” Harry fumbled. “What is it you want in on?” 

They weren’t running any special projects or activities within Hogwarts that weren’t already open to the general student body. Harry had overheard Hermione and Luna talking about some muggle born project the Ravens were apparently undertaking, but he didn’t have any real say in that. The DA was his, sure, but he’d already opened that up to everybody. Harry didn’t think this was about the war, and if it was, well, Zabini would be better off talking to Dumbledore rather than him, so… 

Zabini groaned… or growled. Harry wasn’t sure which, but it did send his hackles rising. It was only Neville’s hand, smoothing in from behind to rest against his stomach that stopped him from responding angrily. He didn’t take well to feeling threatened, but Neville’s calmness seemed to melt into him, calming him. 

“You’re doing it again,” Neville practically whispered against his ear, his breath warm and moist, teasing past his collar. 

“I’m doing nothing,” Harry protested mildly, quite comfortable and relaxed considering he was standing in the middle of an open hallway, faced off with a Slytherin, and one of his mates was there, practically embracing him. He wondered idly if this was another aspect of Neville’s magic—to make one feel calm and grounded. He’d need to remember to talk to him about that. Later. 

Neville buried his face against Harry’s neck, nuzzling in before pulling away to respond. “You’re releasing pheromones again.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are, too,” Neville told him, and if he chose to ignore the minor amusement he could hear in the other’s voice, well, that was his prerogative. 

“I only do that when I want one of you,” Harry argued, not caring if he was sounding petulant or like a child. 

“Or when your cat is actively courting,” Neville reminded him. 

“Cat?” Zabini questioned, taking another daring step closer. “That’s not Potter. Or Black,” he added after a moment, eyeing them suddenly suspicious. “What exactly are you? It’s not night fury or faun or fae, I know that. Your magic tastes too much like mine, and yet nothing at all alike.” 

“And what are you?” Harry returned, not quite willing to just spill his secrets to every or any one. 

It was Neville who answered without hesitation. “Incubus.” 

Zabini shot him an almost annoyed look, but nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Vanteeria,” Harry responded after another moment’s thought. It was only fair. 

“Impossible,” Zabini breathed, staring at him in wonder. 

“Hi, I’m Harry Potter,” he said sarcastically. “I do the impossible.” 

Behind him, Neville snorted and pulled away. “Let’s head back to the head suite, yeah? The girls should all be there still.” 

“Yeah, all right,” Harry agreed turned back down the corridor with Neville. He was only a handful of steps away when he realized Zabini wasn’t also following. “You coming?” 

“Am I?” the other boy questioned faintly. 

“You’re choice, but we really can’t discuss anything out here, can we?” Harry replied, turning back and allowing Zabini to make his own choice. He wasn’t going to discuss pard business out in the open, that’s for sure. It wasn’t like he was saying yes to Zabini, but at least now he understood what the other boy wanted from him. And if Neville was to be believed, and he was, it seemed like his cat was more than okay with potentially taking the Slytherin as a new mate. Truth be told, he didn’t quite mind that so much himself. Zabini was a fine looking specimen of a young, healthy and fit male. 

And an incubus, his treacherous libido reminded him. He would probably fit in perfectly with Neville and Luna and Hannah. Although, he remembered from his recent research that incubi fed off of sexual pleasure, like he did. Would that cause trouble, he wondered. He hoped not. 

Then again, he hadn’t officially decided to accept Zabini, had he? It wasn’t like he could just keep bringing random people home with him and expecting the others to just deal with it. They all had to live with this situation, and with Hannah and Hermione already pregnant, the situation was even more delicate—not that he would ever say anything to that affect in front of either girl. They could be quite… scary, sometimes. 

His thoughts paced him all the way back to the head boy and girl suite, neither Neville nor Zabini saying anything to distract him. He peeked his head in first—experience having taught him well to check before bringing company in. 

“Company coming,” he called out, seeing only the two girls sitting on the sofa, snuggling under a blanket with a shared book between them. 

“All right,” Hannah responded looking up and smiling. “Hermione’s just in the loo. She’ll be back in a mo’.” 

Harry nodded and stepped clear of the door, allowing the other two entrance—Neville coming in behind Zabini and securing the door. Harry frowned. He should probably start thinking of him as Blaise now more than Zabini, especially if he stayed around. 

“Hannah, Luna, you both know Blaise Zabini.” 

The two girls shared a knowing look between them before turned back to face the boys. “Hello, Blaise,” they chirped, smiling pleasantly. 

His lips twitched in return. “Hello, ladies.” 

“Would you care to join us?” Luna asked. “This is the comfiest blanket in all of Hogwarts,” she entreated, petting the woolen looking blanket with affection. 

“Thank you,” the Slytherin boy responded, darting a look towards both Harry and Neville, “but I think, perhaps it would be better if I take the chair for right now?” He slid into the open seat next to the sofa, idly looking around the room. “These are fairly decent chambers. I suppose that’s to be expected with it being the Head boy and girl’s rooms, though. I’m actually a little surprised not to see more red and gold, what with you both being from the lion’s den.” 

“You might think,” Harry grinned back, willing to allow the talk to be of small and unassuming topics for the moment, but all too well aware of the reason why the other boy was currently sitting in his chambers. “But actually, neither Hermione nor I are very big fans of red and gold, other than for house spirit. Always made me think of condiments, actually. I was home one summer, and my cousin was being his normal charming self, stuffing his face with food, and some ketchup and mustard got onto his shirt. It was an absolute pain to get the stains out, and I have to say, I’ve never been quite fond of red and yellow paired together since. But, for the sake of house spirit, I persevere.” 

“I didn’t know you didn’t like red and gold,” Hannah mused, staring at him with some surprise. “I guess we all tend to get into the habit of associating others with their house colors all the time, we can forget it’s not always their favorite color.” 

“What color is your favorite then?” Luna asked, turning to the girl beside her. 

“Oh, I like yellow,” Hannah responded, grinning. “Maybe not the bold yellow of Hufflepuff, but a light, lemony yellow, like summer sunshine. And blush pinks, and baby blues, and Easter greens.” 

“Pastels, then,” Luna affirmed. “Okay, good to know.” 

“What about you, Harry,” Hannah asked, turning back to the boy who was still standing. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Green mostly,” Hermione replied, coming from the back chambers where a toilet was tucked away. “Sometimes some blues, although he also leans towards browns, but I wouldn’t say it’s a favorite color. More like it’s a comfort color for him.” She walked into the room fully, approaching Harry with a welcoming smile as she stepped up beside him. “Did you get accomplished what you wanted?” she asked, turning into him to accept the press of his cheek against her as he leaned in to breath in her scent before dropping a kiss against her throat. 

“In the process of it,” he admitted, pulling back and allowing her to realize they had a guest. 

“Hello, Zabini,” she greeted pleasantly, slightly embarrassed for him to have witnessed her forward and familiar greeting with Harry just now. She’d been working on pushing her comfort level while in front of the others, but that didn’t mean she was ready for outsides to witness her attempts. 

“I would hope we could all be much more familiar with each other,” the Slytherin entreated. “Please, call me Blaise. Your friends already do,” he added with an amused side-glance towards the two girls cuddling on the sofa. 

“Yes, well, Luna and Hannah are quite informal at times. Still, I must say, I’m a little surprised to see you here, Za-Blaise,” she caught herself with a sheepish smile. “Is there something you need? Something we can help you with?” 

“I want in,” he repeated bluntly, looking from one girl to another, back to the boys, before settling once again on Hermione. “As I told Harry a little while ago. I’m willing to prove my worth to you, to demonstrate that I can be a valuable member.” 

“And just what is it that you think we are doing?” Hermione asked, slightly bemused by the other boy’s blunt but impassioned request, mostly confused, but also a smidgeon afraid. If he had noticed something strange and off about them, who else had? Would they cause trouble for their little pard? That wouldn’t be good. She and Hannah were at a delicate stage right now, especially since they hadn’t yet preformed the embryonic stasis charm. They were supposed to be going to do that tomorrow in the Hospital Wing, but still, Hermione was nervous as anything. 

“You’re building a circle,” Blaise stated with way more conviction that he really had. “A coven of some sort. I want in.” 

The five pard members shared a look amongst themselves, as if asking if the Slytherin could be trusted with the truth. And if they did tell him what was really going on, what then? 

“We are a circle,” Luna answered, not pussyfooting around for the others to get their stories straight. “But we’re not a coven—neither of witches and wizards nor of magical creatures. No, we call ourselves a pard, derived from leopard. It’s rather funny, actually, when you consider that a leopard is usually a solitary creature that lives within a larger familial network. Maybe we should consider a different name.” 

The others groaned. “We’re not getting into this again, Luna,” Harry entreated. “We understand that leopards are generally unsocial creatures, solitary wanders,, and you’re right, that doesn’t fit us, but nothing premade ever will fit us. We are a group unto ourselves.” He turned to Blaise. “We chose to call ourselves a pard because my animagis form is a leopard.” 

“That sounds fascinating. May I see?” Blaise asked, sitting up and leaning forward, watching avidly.

Harry seemed surprised at first, but he quickly recovered himself and stood up. It took him merely a thought to start the transformation, his body bending and reconfiguring right there into that of a larger predator cat. 

“Magnificent,” Blaise breathed, staring in fascination at the sleek beast not even twenty feet away. And then he gasped in awe as the creature shivered and shook, stretching long as two magnificent wings unfolded from its back. As sleek as the rest of him, a dark inky black that glistened in the light from the fireplace. It was a creature made of shadows, and idly, Blaise mused if it might not disappear back into them. 

A squeal from beside him startled him from his musings, and he watched with amused surprise and some confusion as Hannah scurried out from under the blanket she was sharing with the other blonde girl, and scuttled up to the large cat, rubbing her face and hands all over the creature. The cat purred, allowing the attention for a moment before nudging her away. When she refused to desist, he growled, low and warning. She whined in protest, not wanting to stop petting him, and he finally had to physically subdue her, nudging her onto the floor until she was prone and pressing his sharp teeth to her delicate neck. 

Blaise was vibrating in his seat, slightly breathless, and he was so captivated by the scene before him that it took him a moment to realize he was feeding off of sexual tension that was pumping into the room, filling the air with an invisible scent of lust. One grew rather accustomed to the presence of sexual tension in a boarding school, but what surprised Blaise was the fact his own arousal was pumping into the air, as equally as anyone else’s in the room. 

As he watched the cat standing over her, those teeth pressed into her skin, heard her whimper and moan, he witnessed Hermione huff and go over to the desk along the wall and retrieve a book and notebook; Luna cuddle in deeper to the blankets, as if to recapture the warmth of the other girl, and Neville, who had been standing by the door, was now taking up a seat on the floor next to the sofa, stealing a bit of the blanket for himself. No one jumped to the girl’s aid, even when she grunted from the cat laying on top of her, chasing the air from her lungs. 

“Beautiful,” Blaise breathed. Large green eyes flicked to him, a whip like tail swished as the cat continued to lay on top of and physically subject the blonde Hufflepuff. 

“Harry,” Hermione called, looking up from the notes she’d continued. “You should probably let her up now. Besides, didn’t you want to talk with Blaise?” 

The cat nodded, looking up and over towards the boy in the arm chair. He got up off Hannah and approached the boy. 

Reverently, Blaise slide to his knees, off of the chair, onto the carpet covered stone floor, staring at the very large feline. It was bigger than him, he realized. He’d known the cat was big, especially after having seen it up against Hannah, but still! He wanted to reach up and touch it, confirm the cat was really real, really there in front of him. Nostrils flared as the feline exhaled, hot air rushing past Blaise’s face. And then the cat was there, its big boxy head pressing up against his, pressing his to the side, and a hot raspy tongue came out to scratch along his throat and neck, and Blaise felt himself submit all to the beast before him. Fear, doubt, worry, anxiety, all of it melted away as he offered himself up to the creature that was Harry Potter. 

“Would you take him like this?” Neville asked Harry intentionally wondering if the vanteeria remembered he had an audience, but it was Blaise who answered. 

“Yes,” he breathed, falling down onto his hands and knees, bending over lower so his bottom higher than his head. “I’m not a stranger to bottoming, and I am comfortable with all styles and positions. Really. I’m not fussy.” 

“We can be,” Neville answered, realizing Luna wouldn’t, Hannah couldn’t, and Hermione wasn’t. 

“I will fulfil whatever need you have of me,” the Slytherin promised. 

A thrill shot through Neville. He didn’t know how long Harry would hold off on taking the boy—he obviously wanted him. He also didn’t know if he would allow his feline form to recede before he bothered taking the incubus. They had all learned that Harry’s cat saw no qualms mating them from any form, which made sense from a vanteeria’s point of view—after all, whether he was a cat, a cat-human hybrid, or a human, it was still him—but for them, it was a little bit trickier to deal with. Well, especially for Hermione. Hannah didn’t seem to mind one bit. Neither did him nor Luna. He wasn’t sure, but with a creature inheritance as well, it was quite likely Blaise wouldn’t care, either. Still, it was something Hermione wasn’t comfortable with yet, so he would try and give Harry a little extra time to regain control of his cat enough to hopefully transform back into a human before possessing the Slytherin. 

And there was no doubt in Neville’s mind that Harry would be fucking the other boy, mating him. He was slightly perturbed by the knowledge their pard was growing again, and with another male. A Slytherin male at that. Not that he considered himself prejudice or anything… just that, it was a little difficult to trust most Slytherins, and really, how much did any of them really know about Blaise Zabini. Yes, he knew, or at least he had suspected the boy was an incubus. His pursuits around the school were hardly a secret, and well, the gossip and rumors surrounding the boy’s mother were a little hard to ignore. Harry’s cat was a lot like an incubus, drawn to sex, feeding off of it, creating situations to feast upon. But Neville knew Harry. They’d shared a room for six years, he’d had a crush on the boy nearly as long. And now he would have to share him with another boy, again. 

Then there was the issue with the girls. Rationally, he knew Harry’s cat wouldn’t ever play around with anyone who wasn’t good for the group, but with Hermione and Hannah pregnant, Neville was even more concerned. They couldn’t always be with either Hannah or Hermione. Sometimes they had different classes, often times Hannah had to traipse back down into the dungeons, since, after all, her common room was down there. His inner nymph was hyper aware of the spark of life growing within the two girls, and yes, he was more than just a niggle of jealous. He was still at least a month away from his fertile time, and even then, it was much more difficult for a male to conceive. But he wanted it; he wanted it badly. He knew it wasn’t a good idea. Not with Harry involved in the war, and a mad man out there trying to kill them all. Not with half a year of Hogwarts still ahead of them. Not for a thought of little and not-so-little reasons. But he didn’t care. 

Blaise was already presenting, and Neville wondered if it was instinctual for the boy. Body braced against the floor, legs spread and ass high, waving in invitation to the feline vanteria. Really, even Neville was finding himself tempted at the sight. 

Of course, he was still fully clothed, and Harry probably would be too he if bothered to rematerialize. 

“Harry, what do you want to do?” he asked again, having to clear his throat and adjust himself. In passing, he noticed Hermione’s grip on her quill—the quill in danger of snapping with the furiousness of the girl’s attempt to ignore them. Hannah was still laying obediently where Harry had left her, but for how long. Well, Neville knew she wouldn’t be there very much longer. He would have to intervene before she tried again, and really, he wanted to try something himself with the two sexual creatures preparing to mate. 

Not for the first time, Neville marveled at Harry’s luck in scoring such sex-crazed mates for his pard, and he couldn’t fathom how Hermione must be feeling with all this, trying to cope as the lone proper one in a group of would-be nymphs. He smiled again, remembering telling Hannah that she should have been the nymph with how sex-crazed she was. Way more than Neville, and he was the actual nymph in the group. He wondered if there was some hidden nymph or maybe succubus in her family history that no one was aware of. It would certainly explain a few things. 

If anything, it would be better to have an extra pair of eyes on the girls and a pair of hands ready to help. 

“Take me, please,” Blaise begged, his body and mind swamped with the sea of hormones and desires pumping into the room. Rationally, he knew it was unsafe to have such a loose grip on his influence. Unfortunately, Blaise was as far away from the land of rationality as one could get while still being lucid. The cat was standing over him now, nuzzling along from his neck to his raised rear. Unfortunately, he was still dressed. 

He keened, wanted to feel the sleek fur against his naked skin. Wanted to feel that raspy tongue like sandpaper as it raked its way over him. He wanted to feel the weight of the beast as it covered him. He wanted—no, needed to feel the other creature’s lust to dominate and possess him. His mind was too far blown, his control non-existent. If he had been thinking, he might have attempted to transform himself into a receptacle form. He’d done it before, over the summer while he was experimenting. He wasn’t lying when he’d told them he done most everything one can do. At least, he wasn’t lying intentionally, and he’d most certainly done more than they probably knew was even possible. 

Still, that didn’t help him now when all he could think about was the being above him, teasing him, but not fucking him like he wanted so desperately. Magic raced over him with a tingle, leaving a draft in its wake, and Blaise gave out a grateful cry when he realized he was naked. He arched his back, crying out again and again as the cat’s tongue scrapped along his bare skin. Thanks to his nature, his body produced natural lubricant, but even still he was most grateful for the additional spell that produced additional slick, the copious substance dripping profusely from his raised rump. He practically screamed when that tongue rasped over his exposed anus, thrusting his hips back in a futile attempt to receive more stimulation, more pressure. 

And then, finally, it happened. The cat shifted above him, wrapping its strong furry paws around his waist as it pulled him back onto his cock. He cried out is satisfaction, a cry that quickly turned pained as the cat continued to use his body, a body that was never meant to copulate with a feline. He lay there, accepting every punishing thrust and jab delivered, salivating for the next. He screamed again as wicked sharp claws pricked him, as if the leopard had to hold him in place. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

He wouldn’t be going anywhere. He felt the warm gush of semen filling him and moaned in satisfaction. That, right there, was what made anything and everything worth it, he thought pleasantly, settling down along the carpet as the leopard withdrew. 

“Look at you,” a raspy voice growled at him, tingling along his already sensitive nerves, eliciting shivers up and down his spine. “Such a wanton thing, laying there naked on the ground. You don’t even care that you let a fucking animal fuck you, do you?

“ No,” Blaise murmured, still pleasantly buzzed. “I don’t mind at all.” He stretched languidly before rolling over and daring to look at the vanteeria—he was no longer a panther, but he was still definitely feline. “I’m an incubus, Harry. My body is made for giving and receiving pleasure. It doesn’t matter what form you take, and neither do I. What matters is that you use my body to give and receive pleasure and that you allow me to give and receive in return.” 

“And how do you proposed to do that? You can’t just bend over all the time and wait for me to warm my dick in your bum.” 

“Pity. I think I would like it very much if you used my ass as your personal dick warmer. Harry, ‘m an incubus. One of my key ambitions in life is to get well and truly fucked, as many times as possible. Then, turn around, and fuck lots of other people. For example,” he said, turning his attention back on the others in the room. 

Neville, Luna, and Hannah, he noticed were all caught up with each other. He was pretty sure that was Hannah sucking on the Gryffindor’s dick while he paid homage to Luna’s now naked chest. He wouldn’t mind joining them, but before he did, he remembered the other person in the room.

Hermione was staring at her book unseeing, breathing rather shallowly. Frowning, Blaise approached her cautiously. “Hermione?” he called, trying to see if he could win her attention without any drastic measures. “Hermione, are you okay?” 

“I.. you…” the head girl stammered, wide eyes darting towards him before darting away again. He shot a questioning look back towards Harry—did he have permission to approach this girl? 

The vanteeria consented with a sharp nod. 

“Hermioine?” he called again, stepping closer now that he had permission to approach—he had learned a most difficult way to always wait for permission before approaching any mates and potential mates. That’s what he was now, he knew—only a potential mate. He crawled over towards where the girl was sitting at a table, her back mostly to the room. “Hermione?” he called again now that he was closer. “Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine,” she responded hollowly. “How are you?” 

“I’m very good, thank you, but I could be better.” 

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose you’ll need a healing draught, won’t you?” she asked, still sounding funny. 

“No, I’m fine, thank you. Save your healing draughts.” 

“What?” she asked startled. “But you just—mean—“ 

He grinned, now that she was finally looking at him. “Mmm, yes, I’m perfectly fine,” he practically purred, daring to lay his head on her lap. “It’s you we’re concerned about.” 

“Me! I’m not the one who copulated with a leopard,” she protested. “Surely you must need to go visit Madame Pomphrey. But how we’re going to explain this, I haven’t a clue,” she said, staring at the group and trying to force her mind to process. 

Blaise nuzzled his face into her lap, rubbing his cheek against her thigh as he dared to reach up and wrap his hand around her calf. He could feel the quivering tenseness of her muscles, the explosive potential. “I am perfectly fine,” he told her. “My body has already healed from any damage a normal human would have been suffering from. You’ve studied incubi, yes? I saw you with the books earlier this year. You checked numerous creature and magical being books out from the library. Now I know, you were trying to discover more about Potter, but at the time, well, I was suspicious.” He tilted forward a bit and grazed his teeth against the material of her pants. “Tell me, what did you learn about incubi?” 

A familiar task, question and answer. Her mind seized on it, and Hermione began rattling off all the information they’d accumulated about incubi while they were still uncertain as to what Harry’s inheritance had been. 

“An incubus, or incubi in the plural, is the male aspect of a sexually possessed demon. Female incurrence being succubus. They feed of sex and sexual energy, inciting lust in others around them, lower the inhibitions.” She caught her breath, still panting shallowly, before forcing herself to go on. “They were considered the culprits for any sexually taboo behaviors--incestuous behavior, sexual abuse, be-bestiality, and unwed pregnancies.” She licked her lips nervously. “Some reports say that the incubus and succubus are actually the same creature. That the succubus seduces a man and then changes shape into the male incubus, and using the semen from their first conquest, impregnates a woman. They are also the scapegoat for sexual dreams, fantasies, and spontaneous orgasms,” she answered dutifully. 

He could taste it on her, thick like clotted cream. She was so juicy and ripe, just waiting to be plucked and set free from the tree still grounding her. He wondered why he’d never picked up on it before. Magical power licked at his senses, flaring like a fire, just waiting to escape. He wanted to see her burn, and didn’t mind the very real possibility of burning with her. 

“And do you believe it? Are we just a scapegoat for others’ sexual deviancies?” 

“Mostly,” she agreed. “That’s not to say that incubi and succubi don’t exist, because, of course, they do. But their population can’t be nearly as many as demanded by such behaviors. Maybe one or two, which is how the stories got out in the first place. You know, even the muggles have tales of them, although they now believe them to be completely fictional. But there’s simply too many people out there committing deviant acts to try and blame incubi for it all.” 

“True. They’re probably not even responsible for a fifth of the acts perpetuated. But what of the real incubi. We are out there, you know. And we are as real and deviant as the stories would have you believe.” He scooted under the table so he could wrap both arms around her legs now, spreading them so he could slide between them, his head still pillowed on her thigh. “We love to fuck and be fucked, hearing a woman scream as she orgasms or a man grunt and groan as he thrusts away. Love the feeling of a cock as it splits me open, forcing its way into my body, forcing me open around it again and again as he fucks me. And when he grips my hips, and pulls me back onto him, holds me there as he pumps his cum into me… “ Blaise moaned. “It’s almost as good as when I have a woman laid out before me, wanton and needy, just begging to be pleasured, delicious,” he breathed before pressing his face against her crotch. 

Hermione muffled a cry, hands fluttering between the table and Blaise’s head before setting in the soft curls covering his head, gripping with enough pressure to cause a normal person to wince. Blaise was not normal. He growled appreciatively, opening his mouth against the fabric of her skirt and dragging his teeth against the pleats, thankful it was a school day and that she was still in her school uniform. A skirt provided much better access. 

“You cannot hurt me,” he told her. “You can only excite me further.” 

She groaned, head thrown back, writhing in her seat. 

“Let go, Hermione. Let it all go and just experience the moment. Let me pleasure you.” 

“Oh, god,” she gasped, eyes screw shut tight, squirming in her seat. Her rational brain tried to step forward—tried to argue that she was in the middle of her common area, that her boyfriend and friends, mates, were all there watching her, that Zabini was for all intents and purposes a stranger to them, for all that they’ve attended the same school and same classes for the last seven years. What did they really know about him? Another wave of lust rushed through her, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was really her responding or something he was doing. Her body was tingling, as if magic was gathering in her very skin, prickling to get out. His hot breath sunk through the material over her pants, chilling the lips of her sex, and still she felt another wave of electric like energy race over her. 

“Do you want to burn?” Blaise asked against her sex, his words horribly muffled. “Do you want to lay back and spread your legs for me? Do you want me to use my tongue to lick you clean? You’re so wet, I can smell it, almost taste it. I’d use my tongue on you, lick you clean, play with your pretty little clit before thrusting my tongue up inside you, chasing down any of your secret juices. Are you a rainmaker, Hermione? Do you gush when you orgasm? I think you might be, your pants are already so wet, they smell so good. Don’t you want to take them off?” 

She did. They were uncomfortable, way too tight. And she was hot, burning up. He dragged the pads of his fingers down along her calves, and with a suddenness that shocked them all, she stood up, wobbling slightly on her feet, needing to reach out and grip the table for balance as her chair went scattering away. 

“Wait,” she gasped.

“Why? Why wait? I’m ready, eager to please you, pleasure you. Look at me Hermione. Look at me Hermione, here, ready to please you. Use me however you want?” he entreated, rolling over so he was on his back, looking up at the head girl. She wavered. He reached down and stroked his dick lazily, watching her with hooded eyes.

She was flushed, and he could sense victory within his grasp. He was aware of Longbottom and the two blondes back over by the sofa; could sense that he was frigging one and eating out the other. Absently, he wondered if he wasn’t permitted to actually penetrate the girls. He didn’t, after all, know the rules or expectations of a vanteerian’s circle—pard. Then again, was there anyone who really did? The creatures were supposed to be extinct! Leave it to Potter. 

He spread his legs a bit, pulling up his ball sack so the girl could see his leaking hole. He was sure a puddle would be forming under him; Harry had shot a decent load of cum and that combined with his own natural slick. Her eyes stared, transfixed, and he contracted his muscles, kissing the air with his anus, aware of more cum leaking from him. She gasped, flushed, and he knew he almost had her—man, but she was obstinate, refusing him for so long. She wasn’t even a virgin. “You wanna feel for yourself? Slide your fingers on in up inside me. Feel how stretched and used I am.” 

“Shut up,” Hermione whispered weakly, flushing brighter than ever. 

So close. 

“His dick was pretty thick and long. I can’t wait to have him fuck me again. Maybe next time Longbottom will join in?” he dared, watching for a reaction. “Use my mouth while Harry fucks me. Mms, skewering me between them, both of them using me, filling me up with their cum.” Not enough, not yet, but so very very close. “Tell me, does he prefer you on your hands and knees, fucking you behind like a bitch in heat, or does he like to switch it up, maybe let you ride him, bouncing on his cock as it fills you up. Does he suck your tits while he fucks you? Or maybe they both take turns with you. Can you imagine being so full, both of them filling you up, your pussy all creamy with cum, your ass stretched wide, so full?” 

Hermione gave a gargled little scream before launching at him. Harry was already edging closer, not sure if he needed to intervene or not. 

Not as it turned out. 

Hermione landed on the naked boy below her, but before she could inflict any damage, his hands had encircled her wrists and pulled her down onto him completely. His mouth latched onto hers before she could articulate and refuse, tongue pushing in past her lips, invading her mouth with brutal intensity. She struggled against him a moment longer, wiggling and squirming. And then she stopped, melted, and his touch gentled like a banked fire, glowing warmly. “You will use me,” he repeated after pulling back a bit. “And you will not fear hurting me.” 

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. And just like that, the fire sprang back to life, a ferocious Beast. Quite literally, as it turned out. 

It started as a smoldering, trails of smoke rising up from Hermione’s clothes before they suddenly caught fire, falling to ash around them. He laughed delightedly, rolling them further away from the table or any other furniture that could combust. If her clothing hadn’t been protected, he highly doubted anything else in the room was, either. His skin singed and tingled where they touched and she burned ever more brightly. He spared half a thought of gratitude for his natural healing abilities that prevented him from incurring serious burns or fire damage before her mouth was on his again, stealing the oxygen from his very lungs. He grappled for her waist, her shapely hips, and tried to encourage her to take him, possess him fully. It took only a little encouragement. 

He cried out in blissful agony as she slid over his dick, settling so perfectly above him, her back arched, breasts bouncing, tits tight and tempting, hair cascading behind her like a silk curtain as tiny flames and wisps of smoke continued to dance around her. She was equally as hot from the inside, if not more so, he thought, reaching out once again to clutch at her hips and waist, to guide her as she moved above him, over him, used him, just like he’d asked. 

“Fuck, Hermione,” he growled. “You’re so hot, feels so good, the way your pussy is sucking on my dick. Mmm, is it good enough, Hermione, am I filling you up? Can you feel me bottoming out?” He grunted, her actions becoming more erratic and forceful. “Do you want to come? Can you come from using me like a disposable toy? Or is it that you want me to come? That’s it, isn’t it? It’s not a successful copulation unless the male comes? You need to feel that jizz coating your insides, know that your partner’s sperm is spewing against your womb. Do you want me to come, Hermione, unload all my cum inside your pussy until my balls are drained dry? Or is that not enough for you? Do you need Harry to come over here? He can push you down and slick his cock right in next to mine. The both of us, filling you up, fucking you, and coming deep inside of you, filling you up with both our cum.” 

She cried out above him, the tiny flames igniting into a large burst of fire that reminded him of the bonfire they had lit and danced around Halloween night, and then the flames melted away as she collapsed against him. 

There was a scrambling and then the others were pressing in against them, crowding them. “What was that?” Hannah demanded? 

“Are you okay?” Neville was asking. 

“Here, let me take her,” Harry was saying, reaching out to gently cradle Hermione. “She’s passed out.” 

“She would be. Is that the first time she’s lit up in front of you all?” Blaise asked, languid and relaxed, despite being laid out naked before them all. Fingers reached out and traced along the slightly darker patches of skin from where Hermione had been pressed up against him. He looked and saw first the Lovegood girl and then Abbott running their fingers over him in a feather-light caress. He shivered, suddenly cold. 

“Yes,” Luna answered. 

“Figuratively and literally,” Neville added. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“A little sleepy,” he admitted, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

“I’ve never seen Hermione like that,” Hannah mused. “What was that?” 

“She’s a fire elemental,” Blaise murmured, fighting to stay awake. 

Neville blanched. “You mean a fully fledge elemental?” he gaped. “I knew she had some qualities, but…” he trailed off. “And you helped her tap into it, didn’t you?” 

“Mmm. Should make sure to fireproof all the rooms,” Blaise warned, curling up to cuddle into the nearest body to him, uncaring of who it was. 

Hannah grinned back up at Harry, carding her fingers through the Slytherin’s hair. “You do manage to collect the most interesting people, Harry.” 

“It’s not intentional.” 

“I don’t know,” Neville teased. “An elementalist, a fae, a nymph, and now an incubus? Makes me wonder if you’re going to try and collect all those who inherited creature blood.” 

“No,” Luna replied mildly, still petting the now sleeping incubus. “There are only two others in your year who have inherited, and I don’t think either one is an ideal fit. My year should see six or seven creature inheritances, and again, I don’t really see any of them appealing to Harry.” 

“But there will be more,” Neville confirmed. 

“Oh, yes.”

“Even if I don’t want more,” Harry asked irritably. “I mean, not that I’m complaining or anything. Zabini looks like he can be useful to us, although it might look a little strange if he’s suddenly hanging out with us all the time.” 

“You will,” Luna promised with a serene smile. 

“Harry!” Hannah suddenly shouted. 

“What?” 

“I just noticed. You’re you again.” 

“I’ve always been me.” 

“Yes, but you’re human. You’re not a cat anymore.” 

“Oh, yeah. I think I switched sometime while the fire show was going on. Why?” 

“Nothing, just surprised, is all.” 

“Okay.” 

“And how do you feel about that show?” Neville asked, eyes darting down towards where Hermione was cuddled peacefully in Harry’s arms. “You didn’t try to stop them.” 

Harry frowned. “No, I didn’t. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Not too much,” Luna comforted him. “A lot will depend on what happens tomorrow when they wake up. Should we take them to bed?”

“I’m surprised they’re passed out,” Hannah mused, looking between the two. 

“Really? And did you not sleep a lot after your first mating with Harry?” Luna questioned as Neville reached over to lift Blaise up. 

“Shall I take him to your room?” he asked Harry while the other made his way to Hermione’s room with his precious cargo. 

“That’s fine,” Harry agreed. “I’ll be through in a mo. Luna, Hannah, are you going to stay tonight or head back down to your dorms?” 

“Someone should probably stay with Hermione,” Hannah hedged. “But I can’t miss two nights in a row.” 

“I’ll stay,” Luna offered. “I’m never missed in the tower, so it’s fine. And I’d much rather stay here anyway. It’s much comfier.” 

“I’d rather stay here, too,” Hannah admitted, “But it’s not really possible.” She sighed. “Okay, so Luna will stay with Hermione, and I’ll head back down to Hufflepuff.” 

“Wait for Neville or I to walk you down,” Harry instructed, and Hannah huffed, rolling her eyes at Luna. “Such a mother hen sometimes.” 

“He has reason to be protective,” Luna reminded her. “Are we still meeting tomorrow for lunch?” 

“Of course! I’ll see you then,” she added, seeing Neville stop out of Harry’s bedroom. “Come on, Neville. Come walk me back to my dorms.” 

“Okay,” the steady Gryffindor boy responded, heading for the door. It was a common act for the two, making a production of Neville walking Hannah back to the dorms and being affectionate in their goodbyes. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Hannah and Neville were a couple, which is just the way they wanted to keep it. When Harry returned from Hermione’s room, and saw the two gone already, he retrieved his map to watch them descend into the castle. It was only when another prefect happened upon the pair around the corner to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room, that the two parted ways—Hannah slipping safely into the Hufflepuff common rooms and Neville heading back up.

“I find it a bit interesting,” he said upon returning, “I mean, you seemed to fight my entrance into the pard, and now you’re just welcoming another person in.” 

Harry heaved a heavy sigh. “It wasn’t you, Nev. It was me. No, really, hear me out,” he rushed out when it looked like the other Gryffindor was about to say something. “When you joined things were all still very new. Luna had given us our first real solid information on what I was. We were—I was still processing through a lot of unknowns, it was just the girls and then you came along saying I was releasing pheromones that you could smell but the others couldn’t. You were also the first guy I’d ever tried to do things with, and you were all hot and begging me. I couldn’t just say no to that, could I?”

Harry approached the other boy who looked a might put out. He was grateful for Luna having already retreated to the bedroom. “Are you upset that it’s Blaise, or that there’s another person?” 

“Neither nor, really,” Neville huffed. “I mean, all to be said, I’m kind of glad there’s another one of us to watch out for the girls, and—“ 

“Another guy, you mean?” Harry clarified, more than a little amused. “You realize those girls could probably take us out without even trying, right? 

“It’s the principle of it all, Harry. It’s not right for a girl to even have to protect herself. And with Hannah being in the dungeons, well, it’s kind of opportune that Blaise is a Slytherin, right? Although another Hufflepuff would have been better, just saying.” 

Harry shook his head. “You know very well it wasn’t planned on my part, although maybe one of you could talk to Luna and maybe get her to spill some of her secrets? A little more forewarning would be good.” 

“I think the girls already suspected something,” Neville confided, frowning wryly back at Harry while the other boy just shook his head. 

“So, you’re okay with Blaise being here?” 

“Not much point in not being, is there?” Neville returned, casually straightening up the room before the elves could pop in and do so. 

“There is,” Harry insisted. 

“Harry.” Neville stopped what he was doing and took a calming breath. “I told you before, your cat isn’t going to allow anyone it perceives as a danger to us near, especially not with the girls. I knew the minute you allowed him to come back here with us that Blaise would be joining us for the long term. I’m not upset there’s another mate, Harry. Having another person to help protect us, making us stronger, can only be a good thing.” 

“It’s also another person to protect,” Harry pointed out. 

“If anything,” Neville continued, ignoring Harry’s interjection, “I’m… jealous,” he admitted after another moment. 

“What? Why?” Harry asked, frowning. 

Neville sidled up to Harry, leaning his forehead against the other boy’s. “Well, I was the first boy you brought home, and now there’s another. And he’s prettier and more experienced than me. What if you like him better?” 

Harry pulled away and tried to study him. “Seriously? That’s something I’d expect from the girls, not from you.” 

“Maybe I just need a reconfirmation that you still want me,” Neville told him, causing Harry to grin and shake his head. 

“Reconfirmation, eh? And what kind of reconfirmation would help assure you that I still want you?” Harry asked, leaning up against him, pressing his lips against Neville’s ear. “Because I want you, and I don’t ever want you to doubt that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“How much?” Neville teased, nibbling along Harry’s cheek. “Enough to lay back and let me ride your cock like Hermione and Blaise just did?” 

“Gods, that was hot,” Harry muttered, falling back onto the sofa. 

“Literally,” Neville snorted, following him down. “Did you know she could do that?” 

“You’re the one who told me she was an elementalist,” Harry reminded him. “But she’s never done anything so… I mean, damn. She was on fire, Nev.” 

“I know, I saw.” Neville sighed. “I knew, I mean, I suspected she had some elemental abilities, but I didn’t realize shew as a full elementalis.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“Well, it means she’s even more powerful than anyone realized, and if she hasn’t already, she’s going to need training in how to handle her abilities. You know, it might explain why she’s always so… so uptight.” 

“Hey!” 

“You know what I mean,” Neville deflected. “She’s always holding herself so in control. If she’s been worried about letting go, losing control over her abilities, well, then that makes sense, doesn’t it?” 

“It’s not going to hurt the baby, is it?” 

“What? No. Don’t worry, Harry. The girls’ bodies were made for conceiving, right? It’s natural. They’ll be just fine, and after tomorrow, they’ll be even more protected.” 

“I don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right about it,” Harry mumbled. 

“About what?” Neville asked. “Hermione being a fire elementist? Blaise joining the pard?” 

“Yes, no, I don’t know, all of it, maybe?” Harry huffed. “I’m not sure what to think about Blaise. Really had no opinion of the guy before. I’m not against him, and… Gods, Nev. He felt… it was really good, the way he just submitted like that…” 

“Knew you would like that,” Neville murmured, grinning helplessly. 

“Know what else I liked,” Harry returned, pulling Neville into his lap and being to nibble along his neck. “The way he talked so easily about the both of us using him. We should try that, soon. I really want to see that mouth of his stretched around your dick.” 

“I think you just want to get another piece of his arse,” Neville teased, shifting so he was properly settled over Harry’s lap, a knee to either side of his hips as he rubbed his groin against Harry’s. 

“I want a piece of your arse right now,” Harry replied, nipping lightly. 

“It’s convenient that I’m right in your lap,” Neville grinned. “Such easy access to my arse.” 

“Mmm, you know what. You’re right,” Harry growled, groping the other boy’s rear. “I do want to see you ride my cock, just like Hermione did Blaise. Think you’re up for that?” 

“Gods, yes,” Neville moaned. “I love how deep your cock feels me up.” 

“Mmm, me too.” He smacked Neville’s hip. “Let me up.” 

It took little maneuvering—soon enough the blanket was folded and spread on the floor in front of the fire and both boys were stripped naked. With a little flick of his wrist, Harry provided the only preparation he was set to give to his nymph, and then Neville was sinking down onto Harry’s cock, and both boys let out grateful moans. 

“Gods, so deep,” Neville panted, eyes fluttering and he rocked back and forth. Harry murmured nonsensical sounds of encouragement back to him, hands rubbing along Neville’s side and thighs, pushing his knees wider and encouraging the nymph to sink deeper. 

“Do I need to talk dirty to you, too?” Harry growled. “Tell you how good you feel, slick on my dick? Maybe I should tell you how I’ll never get tired of fucking you. How you fit around my cock just perfectly, like you were made to be fucked by me. Should I keep talking?” Harry asked as Neville’s pace faltered sporadically above him. 

“Yes!” the nymph shouted, scrabling for purchase, toes digging into the blanket beneath them, knees and thighs burning, hands at loose ends, reaching out for Harry before sliding back up over his own skin. His entire focus centered onto the thick cock that was currently stretching him wide and full and deep. So, so deep… 

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” a sleep-hoarse voice asked from the head boy’s doorway. 

Impassions green eyes flicked over, taking in the sight of the naked incubus, draped lazily in a bedsheet as he leaned up against the doorframe, watching them. But he didn’t respond, looking back up at Neville. Neville, whose head was thrown back as he continued to pant and whine above him, pleading. 

“Harry, please!” 

“So good, Nev,” he encouraged, uncontrollably thrusting up into the pliant body. “You feel so good, the way you take my cock.” 

“More, Harry, please. More!” 

He was lost. 

“You like it, don’t you?” Harry huffed, reaching around and pulling Neville’s cheeks apart, showing off how well Neville’s hole swallowed him up… just like Blaise had little more than an hour ago. The incubus fell to his knees, eyes never leaving the couple by the fire, and slowly began crawling over to them. 

“You like being filled up by a cock,” Harry continued, “being used as my cum dump. You like it even more than fucking one of the girls, don’t you, Nev? You love it, drool over the thought of me filling you up, fucking you, coming inside you. 

“But I wonder, is it just me, Nev? Is it just my cock that you’ll drool for? Beg for? Or would anyone’s cock do? Huh, Nev? Would you be so cock-hungry if it was Blaise’s cock fucking you right now? Stretching you open and fucking you deep? You got a good look at his cock, didn’t you?” Harry asked, staring at it right now. 

“Nice and long, maybe not as thick as you or me. I’m sure he’d be willing to slide it up right on inside your greedy little ass and give you a good hard fucking if you asked. 

“Or would you rather fuck him?” Harry wondered. “Would you like that better, Nev? I bet he’d roll right over for you, right this second, and present you with his arse, still loose and dripping cum, fresh from my cock. You could just crawl right up and slide right inside him, Nev. Fuck away to your little heart’s content.” 

“Or would you rather stay right where you are, fucking yourself on my cock?” 

“Yes, please, fuck, Harry,” Neville gasped, not even noticing Blaise, who had stopped only a few feet away, hungry eyes watching them. “Keep fucking me. Want you to come in me. Please, fuck, Harry, come in me.” 

“Yes,” Harry hissed, surging forward and rolling the boy under him. He shifted for better purchase, yanking Neville’s legs up before pistoning in and out of the boy’s body, chasing after his own orgasm—his second for the night. 

“I will, Neville,” he promised. “I’m going to fill you up, shoot all my cum up inside you. And one day, I’m going to knock you up, just like you want.” 

Neville went wild under him, just like he did whenever talk turned to getting pregnant. It was a little weird to Harry’s mind. He just didn’t see the appeal of being a bloke and getting knocked up. That’s what girls did, and they did a mighty fine job of it, too, thank you very much. But he realized that was the two sides of him reacting—his human brain was still very flummoxed by the idea of a man—wizard or not—being able to conceive and carry a baby within his body. It just wasn’t natural. His vanteeria brain, while not confused by the idea of a man getting pregnant, was very much against the idea of him being the one pregnant. His cat was very on board with the idea of impregnating every one of his mates, multiple times, but even think about getting pregnant himself? Yeah, no. No way, not happening. 

Neville was a nymph, though, and the girls’ research, along with many frank conversations with his male mate, had helped him understand Neville’s wants and needs. He was a creature of nature. Plants and flowers were all about pollination and germination, growing the next generation. Hermaphroditic, Harry remembered the others telling him at one point, male and female wrapped together in one package. Neville was male, he was a boy, but he could get pregnant. More than that, he wanted to get pregnant. And Harry wanted that for him, too, although maybe not so right away. At least, he hoped not. They wouldn’t be able to use a stasis spell on Neville if he got pregnant right away like they could do with the girls. Neville’s body would misinterpret the magic of the spell and abort any pregnancy the male was able to conceive. 

Below him, Neville gave a loud shout, body constricting around Harry, and he grinned in satisfaction, following shortly thereafter. They slumped onto the floor in a sweaty pile, breathing and gasping hard, but utterly satisfied. 

“Bravo,” Blaise murmured, slinking closer to the pair in satisfied lethargy. “And I would gladly let you use me any which way you would like… Later though, after we’ve slept.” 

Neville breathed out a tired laugh. “Sure, Zabini. Later.” 

Harry grinned and allowed sleep to close up around him. He was most certainly looking forward to later. 

 

***** 

 

Still to come… End of Term. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, this story is a work in progress and is in active revision. Characterization is a reflection of not only my own opinions of characters, but also a reflection of characterization from the stories that I've read. Influential authors, if you haven't picked them out yet: StarLight_Massacre, DebsTheSlytherinSnapeFan, The_Fictionist, and lilyseyes.
> 
> Group response: I'm grateful for the positive response to Blaise... and surprised there wasn't more of an outcry at Blaise and his mother being incubi... More will be explored about Harry's and Blaise's creatures' interactions. 
> 
> As with most of my earlier stories, I have a general idea of how this story will progress, but it's the characters themselves who will drive the narrative. Some pieces (yes, guys, Severus *will* be a mate unless something seriously changes in the plot development) are rather fixed. How many mates there will be, who they will be from this point out, how exactly Harry's going to deal with Voldie... those are still very much flexible elements. 
> 
> There are two more chapters written that need heavy revision. No promise as to when they'll be updated.


	25. Term Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up the morning after, Blaise feels out his place in the pard, the girls visit Madam Pomphrey, and the pard leaves for Winter Holidays...

 

25-Term Ends-

 

~THEN~   

 

Harry and Neville slumped onto the floor in a sweaty pile, breathing and gasping hard, but utterly satisfied.

 

“Bravo,” Blaise murmured, slinking closer to the pair in satisfied lethargy.  “And I would gladly let you use me any which way you would like… Later though, after we’ve slept.”

 

Neville breathed out a tired laugh.  “Sure, Zabini. Later.”

 

Harry grinned and allowed sleep to close up around him.  He was most certainly looking forward to later.

 

 

 

~NOW~

_\- Tuesday, December 2, Hogwarts-_

 

 

Harry woke up most pleasantly the next morning.  Reaching out, he dug his fingers into soft, silky curls buried in his lap, purring happily.  “Nice,” he complimented before pulling the other farther up the bed so he could reach those wicked lips.  Yep, he definitely enjoyed kissing, he thought, suckling at the other boy’s mouth for several minutes before pulling away.

 

“Good morning” he rumbled, voice still rough with sleep.

 

“You didn’t let me finish,” Blaise practically pouted, lazy eyes half-lidded as he slid his limbs back and forth against Harry—a full body caress.

 

“I wanted something else,” he returned, nuzzling along Blaise’s jaw line.  

 

“Anything,” the incubus offered.

 

“You’re being quite cooperative,” Harry pointed out, more than a little suspicious.

 

“I told you last night,” Blaise returned.  “I want in to your little party, your pard, and I’m willing to do whatever you want to be allowed to stay.”

 

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” Neville murmured from behind Harry, rolling over to meet Harry’s eyes.

 

“I will prove my worth and value to you,” Blaise insisted.

 

“And in return,” Harry asked, unable to resist trailing his fingers along the side of that dark creamy skin, so much darker than his own but not as dark as, say, Dean’s or even Pavarti’s skin color.

 

“For what?” Blaise wondered, eyes fluttering at the other boy’s touch, and that was without Longbottom sliding up closer behind him, spooning up behind him and adding his own hands to the wandering.

 

“You prove your worth and value to us,” Harry explained, “And you join our pard—our little party, as you called it—and then what?  What do you get?”

 

“I get you,” the Slytherin answered bluntly.  “You’re already a sexual circle; you share energy unconditionally, freely, and because you’re a circle, instead of losing any energy or draining one person near to death, you cycle it out amongst yourselves, making you all stronger. Instead of going from lover to lover, never making a real connection with any one person for fear of loving them to death, I get to be with you, be a part of…something, like a family.  And potential,” the dark-skinned boy added, shooting hesitant looks between the other two boys. “Potentially, I’ll be able to have a family of my own…?”

 

Behind him, Neville sucked in a sharp breath, pressing in closer to the lithe boy.  Harry, however, was frowning.

 

“Why couldn’t you have a family if you wanted one?”

 

“My very nature makes it difficult for me to return to the same person for sexual gratification, Potter,” Blaise responded, feeling more than a little defensive. Surely he knew all this already? “I risk addicting them and worse, killing them.”

 

“You’re a fully-fledged incubus,” Neville whispered incredulously. “You didn’t just inherit some of the powers.”

 

“No, I didn’t,” he confirmed, stiffening in expected rejection.

 

“What does that mean?” Harry demanded, green eyes flickering from one boy’s face to the other expectantly.

 

Neville’s arms wrapped around Blaise’s waist from behind, pulling him back that little distance away from Harry’s body.  “Do it,” he commanded.  “Switch.”  He nuzzled against the incubus’s throat.  “Harry’s more of a hands-on learner. Even if you explain it to him, it doesn’t really click unless he sees and touches it.”

 

“Hey!” the vanteeria protested, but he didn’t get to say anything else because right before his eyes, he witnessed Blaise Zabini change. It was still Zabini, but then again, it wasn’t. He scrambled to sit up.

 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching out to touch the form, barely registering Neville’s grinning face, still pressed up against Zabini’s neck, or the greedy hands that were cupping and squeezing two breasts that definitely hadn’t been there a second ago.  Harry snatched back the sheets and confirmed it.  He reached out and slide his fingers inside the very real female pussy Blaise bared for him with two wide spread, open-invitation thighs.

 

The girl—for it was most definitely a girl in his bed suddenly—cried out, arching her back and throwing her head  back, almost cracking Neville in the nose.

 

“Please!” she gasped.

 

“What do you want?” Neville asked, eyes all for Harry who was still staring in wonder.

 

“Where the fuck did you penis go?” Harry wondered aloud, still frigging Zabini—yep, definitely girl bits.

 

Neville snorted. “Is that all you can think about when you’ve got a hot succubus in your bed, begging you to fuck her?”

 

Harry blinked back at him.  “I change, I’m still a guy.  Luna goes all glowy—she’s still a girl.  Hermione turns into a living torch—she’s still a girl.  You get all nymphed-out—you’re still a guy.  Blaise is a guy who’s now a girl. It’s a bit much to process, yeah?”

 

Neville shook his head. “Told you,” he mumbled to Zabini. “Needs to see and touch to believe it. Very much a tactile and physical learning, our Harry.”

 

“Please,” Blaise repeated, attempted to wrap one of her legs back around Neville’s and pull him harder against her. Her slim hands reached up and covered his own larger hands which were covering her breasts.

 

“Blaise is an incubus, right?” Neville said to Harry now.

 

“Yes, a male sex demon. Male.”

 

“A fully-fledge incubus, meaning he’s got it all,” Neville continued. “Just as if he’d been naturally born an incubus and it wasn’t just an inheritance.  It means he can switch, literally swap sexes.  He can be a male or a female, whenever and whatever the mood takes him. Isn’t that right?”

 

“Mostly,” Blaise gasped.

 

“What do you mean, mostly?” Harry demanded, still fascinated by this entirely new and yet somewhat familiar body for him to explore.

 

“I was born male, was raised male, think like a male—male is my preferred form,” Blaise explained.  “But I can switch into a female, especially if there is a hetrosexual male nearby who refuses to be tempted by my male form. Usually, even a mostly hetro male can be persuaded to fuck me, but not always. Also, many females can be more receptive to another female, especially in the dorms, where the girls fear an unwanted pregnancy and don’t want to deal with Madame Pomphrey or worse—Snape.”

 

Harry growled.  “How many have you let fuck you?”

 

Indigo eyes flashed—not really blue, not really brown, but fascinating. Or they would have been if Harry wasn’t experiencing a sudden insane rush of rage—jealousy and possessiveness. 

 

“You will tell me, and I will kill them for touching you,” Harry continued, rolling both Blaise and Neville onto their backs.

 

Neville groaned.  “Maybe shouldn’t have mentioned that part right now,” the nymph wheezed as Harry fell onto them both.

 

“You are mine. No one but mine may touch you,” Harry commanded.  “You will spread your legs for no one else!”

 

“May Neville fuck me?” Blaise gasped. “He’s so very hard; his cock’s weeping. I can feel it. He’s smearing cum all over my arse.”

 

Harry growled again.  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Mmn, yes,” Blaise agreed.  “I’d love to feel Neville’s cock filling me up.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind it myself,” Neville put in, adding a little pelvic thrust, sliding said cock along the slippery crease.

 

“Maybe we should both fill you up,” Harry mused, still angry and possessive. “Stretch your little hole around both of our cocks, make sure you know you’re never to go to anyone else.”  He pulled his fingers from her gaping hole and reached under her for Neville’s penis. Neville yelped as Harry jerked on his privates before shoving him up inside the girl’s hot and squishy hole.

 

“Fuck,” Neville groaned as the girl atop him squirmed and moaned. 

 

“Please!” Blaise shouted again.

 

Harry teased the angry looking clit with his cockhead. Definitely the body of a girl. As if having his fingers shoved up her pussy before replacing them with Neville’s cock wasn’t enough of a confirmation. He pressed his cock up alongside Neville’s and pressed. Beneath him, the girl shouted and Neville groaned as his cock slipped out, making room for Harry.  Harry growled. He wanted them both to take her, both fuck her.

 

Harry pulled and tugged her up, forcing her to turn over, straddling Neville now.  The nymph helped, settling her over him and then pulling her in close.  “We’ve got you now,” Neville whispered.

 

“You’re ours,” Harry stressed, lining himself up once again, and this time he was successful in holding her down onto Neville while he thrust up.

 

“Ours,” Neville agreed, fighting against the temptation to move.

 

“Yours,” Blaise agreed allowing hir body the freedom to be and do what it was bred to do—fuck and be fucked.

 

*****  

 

They missed breakfast… and first period, which for Harry and Neville, wasn’t a big deal, since they didn’t have a class first period and both knew where the kitchens were located, but Blaise had been expected in Runes and was slightly perturbed when he realized he’d been too busy fooling around to remember to go to class.

 

“Come on,” Harry cajoled. “It’s too late to head to class now. Let’s all take a shower, and then we can stop by the kitchens before making our way to Defense.”

 

Blaise groaned.  “Do you think Granger will lend me her notes?”

 

“I think Hermione,” Harry stressed the name, “can be persuaded.”

 

“Unless she’s peeved with us,” Neville helpfully supplied.  “Then, good luck.”

 

Harry shot him an annoyed look. Neville just smiled and shrugged and helped Blaise up out of bed.

 

“Why would she be peeved with you?” the Slytherin asked, agreeably following Neville’s lead. Runes really was a lost cause at this part. He’d swing by the classroom still to give his excuses and apologies, but there was little point in rushing to get there now.

 

“Well, more you, than us, but probably us, too,” Neville sighed. 

 

“What did I do?” Blaise wondered, frowning in puzzlement.

 

“You mean, besides light a fire up our head girl’s arse and turn her into a raging sex inferno?” the other boy quipped, shooting the Slytherin a rather sardonic look.  “Let me put it this way—Hermione’s not gotten frisky with any of us other than Harry.  And now you.”

 

“But, you’ve all been together for a while now,” the incubus stuttered, incredulous. “I’ve smelled your scents all over one another.”

 

“Hugging and holding, sharing blankets, or even sharing Harry,” Neville supplied. “It’s not nearly the same as being intimate. Hermione’s constantly held herself apart from the rest of us, and we respected that.”

 

“You will respect that,” Harry grumbled, padding into the wash room behind them.

 

“I have never forced myself on any person,” Blaise retorted heatedly.

 

“Probably because you’ve never needed to,” Neville returned, shooting a spray of water at the other boy.  “And we’re not saying you forced Hermione or anything like that, but, well…”

 

He and Harry shared a look—a grimace of pity. 

 

“You’re going to have to work things out with Hermione on your own,” Harry declared.

 

“Yeah, you’re on your own, there, mate. Don’t think any of us could help you even if we wanted to, so… good luck.”  

 

Blaise continued to frown at the pair started washing themselves clean. What possibly could be the trouble with Hermione? It was obvious to him that she was a very passionate person—he had suspected as much even before their evening adventures. That she withheld that part of herself from her circle was troubling. That the others anticipated there being trouble with the head girl was worrying. If what they were suggesting was true, then he wasn’t sure whether he should wait to meet up with her again or seek her out at his earliest convenience…

 

“So,” Neville started up as they continued to wash. “How are we going to do this?” Seeing their confused looks, he explained. “I mean, no one really thinks too much about seeing me hanging around Harry, and Hannah’s managed to convince most that she was spending so much time with Hermione and Harry because she was interested in me and not because she was busy screwing Harry’s daylights out—“

 

“Hey! I think I was the one doing the screwing at least half of the time,” Harry protested.

 

“Right. And Luna always gets away with being herself because she’s so wonderful,” Neville continued, unperturbed by the interruption. “Really, Hannah was our most difficult one because she was not only in a different house, but also in the basement. Not to mention the Hufflepuffs are always looking out for each other. It’s really annoying sometimes,” Neville grumbled.

 

“Ah, I see,” Blaise murmured.  “Well, obviously, I won’t be able to be seen so openly and amiable with you all,” the incubus mused as he stepped into the shower spray.  “Luckily, Slytherin House mostly minds its own business, so while I might miss a night in the dorms here or there, and it may be noticed, no one goes telling tales. Less so this year as there are many more aware of my… more amorous pursuits, shall we say?”

 

Harry growled again, and Blaise turned and smiled up at him, lightly clasping his arms around the vanteeria’s neck. “No more, mio amante,” he promised, thrilled to know he meant it truthfully.  He dropped a quick kiss on Harry’s lips and then reached for the soap cloth. “Otherwise, I have cultivated a character of neutrality. My housemates know I am not one to concern myself with politics or philosophical principals. I am a creature of simple pleasures and needs.”

 

“I think you and Luna will get along swimmingly,” Harry proposed, grinning in expectation.

 

***** 

 

“So good of you to make it,” Hermione groused as they met up outside the Defense classroom, eyeing the three boys critically. Hannah popped up moments later and immediately slid in between Blaise and Neville.

 

“Hi!” the Hufflepuff chirped. “Missed you at breakfast. There was a letter for you, wasn’t there, Hermione?” the blonde reminded the head girl, hoping to take off some of the tense edge she could feel burning off of her.

 

“Yes,” Hermione started, having forgotten about the letter delivered for Harry that morning. She had been rather surprised that the owl had allowed her to take the missive, let alone that it had come to her in the Great Hall and not Harry when it was clearly addressed to him.  She reached into her bag, pulling out a copy of the Rune’s notes she’d copied and passing them off to Blaise while finding the envelope marked for Harry and handing that to him.

 

“Thanks,” Blaise whispered, tucking the notes into his bag to look over later.

 

“You’re welcome,” Hermione answered succinctly.  “I really am a bit surprised to even see you here. I thought you would stay away until at least lunch.”

 

“And miss Defense?” Harry asked incredulously.  “Snape would kill us.”

 

“Indeed, Mr. Potter,” came the sarcastic drawl from behind.  “If it hasn’t yet occurred, I lament in the possibility of it ever happening.  Now, if you would kindly cease your dawdling and get inside.”

 

Harry forced a grin onto his face as he turned around to greet his most churlish professor.  “Gladly, sir. You know I always look forward to your class.”

 

They all filed inside and took their seats. Like all of their seventh year classes, they were a blend of all four houses, but at only thirty-two students in their entire form, it wasn’t all that much a hardship. Of course, not everyone in their year had elected to take Defense, but there were actually more than had signed up for Charms or Transfiguration Newts.  Harry couldn’t help a sense of pride that almost all of the seventh year Defense students were first generation DA members.

 

They still had a few minutes until class was set to begin. Harry set up his desk for notes and then slide open the envelope Hermione had collected for him. There was only one line written.  He checked the front and back, tried to decipher if the handwriting was familiar at all, but it wasn’t.

 

“Did you recognize the owl that delivered this?” Harry demanded softly, leaning into Hermione as Ron slid into the seat on his other side.

 

“Hey mate,” his longtime friend greeted with forced cheefulness.  “Missed you at breakfast this morning.  Late night?” he asked teasingly.  “Hermione was looking a little under the weather herself this morning, but she wouldn’t say anything.”

 

“Ron!” Hermione hissed, leaning around Harry and looking ready to spit nails.

 

Harry just shook his head.  “Yeah, it was. Had some issues pop up with another student that we were trying to sort out. Hermione actually got to sleep before me. I stayed up a bit later to work on some other things.”

 

“Yeah, right,” the ginger drawled, grinning. “Whatever you say, mate.” But the smile quickly dropped as he turned to gather his materials for class. Everyone tended to take Defense seriously—partly because Snape was teaching, but even more of a motivator was the reminder of the Hogsmeade Raid.

 

“No, Harry, I didn’t,” Hermione answered, pointedly ignoring Ron now.  “Why? What did it say?”

 

He passed her the note. She had just enough time to read it before Snape started the class.

 

_Better watch out for your girlfriend._

 

 

***** 

 

Normally, the pard liked to spend their Tuesday afternoon free block together. Today, however, Harry was off to meet with the Headmaster, Neville and Hannah had decided to take a stroll through the greenhouses, and Luna was off to parts unknown.  They would reconvene after last class today to descend upon Madame Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing. Just the reminder of her supposed state was enough to gear Hermione into motion. It was more than a little unbelievable to think that she, Hermione Granger, might actually be pregnant at only eighteen years old.  Sighing, Hermione gathered up her bag and debated whether to head to the library and commandeer her favorite table in the library or if she’d rather just return to the quiet, safe confinements of her room. 

 

She still hadn’t decided even as she left the Great Hall when a voice called out to her.

 

“Granger, a moment if you would?”

 

She stiffened immediately before forcibly relaxing and turning to face the other seventh year.  “Zabini,” she greeted neutrally. “Can I help you?”

 

“I was hoping to talk to you about a personal matter,” the dark-skinned boy entreated—not pushy or demanding.

 

He would be so much easier to rebuke if he had been, Hermione groused mentally.  No, the stupid Slytherin had to be all seductive and smooth. But then, he was an incubus, she reminded herself, and he wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite, she amended.  And he was waiting patiently for her reply, she reminded herself.

 

“I was just heading back to the heads’ suite,” she informed him.  “We can talk there, if you’d like?” she offered, half hoping he’d decline, even though she logically knew it was the safest place in the castle to hold a conversation about pard business, and she had little doubt they would be talking pard business.  It seemed like so much of her life now was made up of pard business, but then, Harry had always been a major part of her life since entering Hogwarts.  Was it really only seven years ago?

 

Like a perfect gentleman, he nodded with a little bow and held out his hand to escort her.  Neville sometimes would do something like that, she thought, and she wondered if it was that manners and etiquette were still taught to the pureblood society. It would make sense. Much of the wizarding world was still stuck at least a century behind the muggle world. Somethings, though, like courtesy and chivalry, should never go out of style.

 

“You’re not concerned what your housemates might say if they see you walking with me?” she asked as they made their way to the staircases.

 

“They will wonder,” Blaise responded negligently, “and they will make their own assumptions. But to ask outright would be…. Uncouth… and an admission that they were not cunning enough to deduce my motives.” He shot her a little grin.  “Slytherin’s are seldom as confrontational as you may have been lead to believe due to the actions of some of my housemates.”

 

“I have often thought it strange,” Hermione chatted amiably as they continued their way, “how a magical artifact can be given so much power as to box someone’s personality in at the tender age of eleven. There is a dramatic amount of growth and maturing one does as an adolescent that the sorting hat can’t possibly be expected to know will happen.”

 

“You disapprove of the sorting system?” he queried, someone surprised and yet, somehow…not.  It did reinforce much of the talk about muggleborns—coming into their world and wanting to change everything, tear apart their traditions. It… niggled. But then, it countermanded man of the activities and steps this year’s headboy and headgirl had put in place as almost a return and celebration of the old ways. It was…confusing.

 

“No,” Hermione answered immediately. “The sorting system provides an immediate sense of belonging, or it should,” she explained.  “But for many, I think it must be constricting. We are more than just our house traits, and beyond that, as we experience more, our personality traits often change. No, if anything, I think it would benefit Hogwarts to have more sortings, multiple sortings. Not just for first years.”

 

“That is…” Blaise trailed off.  “You think people would actually change houses if they were resorted?”

 

“Not everyone, no,” she admitted. “But I think there are some who would.”

 

“I disagree,” he said mildly.  “I believe we are sorted into a house based not upon who we are at eleven, but rather who we want to be. The scared child who wants to be brave and popular. The lost child who wants to be found and sheltered. The insecure child who wants to be powerful. The confused child who wants to be knowledgeable.”

 

Hermione looked startled.

 

“After all, if it was simply a matter of intelligence, you most certainly would have found yourself in the Raven’s Tower and not the lion’s den.”

 

“That is…” Hermione searched for the word.  “Most profound,” she finally settled on saying.  “I have never thought or heard of the sorting spoken of as such.”

 

“But it makes ever so much sense rather than believing all the children sorted into Slytherin are already cunning, or all the children sorted into Gryffindor are already brave, doesn’t it? No, it is not who we are at eleven the determines our sorting. It’s who we aspire to be, deep in our most secretive hearts.  The sorting hat hears the whispers we don’t dare to give words to, even in our heads.”

 

They had arrived at the head suite, and Hermione held open the door to usher Blaise through, still absentmindedly lost in the new avenue of thought Blaise had presented to her. She wandered through the room on autopilot, setting her bag on the table/desk and emptying her books so that she could work from later, sliding in her Charms book in for her afternoon class. After Charms, they would go to Madam Pomphrey in the Hospital Wing to have the status spell cast.

 

Remembering what was yet to happen that day was enough to slide Hermione out of her musings about the sorting and instead focus them on the very real state of her being pregnant. Eighteen years old, still in school, and pregnant.  Her parents would flip if they found out…when they found out.  She wanted to flip out, just a little bit.

 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want children.  She did. Eventually. Some when down the road—after she had graduated Hogwarts and maybe have even gone to Uni.  After she was married, certainly, maybe even a little established already in her chosen career—whatever that may be, she wasn’t quite certain yet.

 

“You are worried about something,” Blaise’s voice sliced right through her circular thoughts, dragging her back out of her head and into the world.

 

And then she remembered where she was and what had happened just the night before—her, and Zabini… right there on the floor with the others just… watching…

 

“Now you’re angry,” Zabini mused, watching her like she was some strange specimen to be observed.  “The others suggested that you would be…peeved. I do not understand why, but I see they are correct.”

 

He hadn’t moved to make himself comfortable—no more than to take the few steps necessary to close the door behind him. So he stood there, bag over his shoulder, hands casually in his pockets, watching her.

 

“You’re not going to sit down?” she asked, more irritable than was called for really.

 

“I wasn’t invited to,” he responded, still watching her.

 

“These rooms are pard rooms,” Hermione told him.  “That means, as a member of the pard, they are your rooms, too. You’re allowed to make yourself comfortable.”

 

“Am I?” he asked, still watching her.

 

“Are you what?”

 

“A member of your pard?”  He did honestly want to know.  Sure last night and this morning had been delightful, but it wasn’t like anything was guaranteed, was it? Yes, he wanted it, wanted to join them more than just about anything he could ever remember wanting… but that didn’t mean he would get it. Even still feeling the slight tingle of Harry’s and Neville’s cum still inside him, he still had his doubts about whether they would allow him to join.

 

Hermione could have growled, but she restrained herself. “There hasn’t been someone yet who Harry has… been intimate with who isn’t a member, so, yes, I think it’s safe to say your in.”

 

“But you’re not happy about that,” he sensed, still confused over why she seemed so angry. “Did I not please you?”

 

Hermione sputtered and choked. “I have nothing to do with—”

 

“Quite the contrary,” Blaise interrupted.  “If Harry is your king, then you most certainly are his queen. The others look to you for direction and approval almost as assuredly they do to Harry. Without your approval, my place in your circle is not guaranteed, will never be secure. And here you are, angry at me, and I don’t know why.  I cannot fix this, mia bella leonessa, if I do not know what is wrong.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Hermione groused, red cheek.

 

“Don’t do what?” Blaise asked simply, not trying to provoke the beautiful lioness in front of him but needing answers, needing reassurance that he would not be used and discarded completely.  Make no mistake—he had no qualms about being used; it was the discarding he was hoping against having to experience. Especially with Harry being an Vanteerian… his own allure would not be able to overpower Harry’s. He would not be able to seduce the pard into keeping him.

 

“I am not beautiful, and I don’t appreciate it when others say such things.”

 

He frowned. He couldn’t help it.  Surely the young woman in front of him knew of her attractiveness?  “But you are,” he assured her. “You have grown into a most beautiful woman; a sexy, attractive woman who demands the attention and respect of all others who lay eyes upon her.”  He dared to approach, just a few steps.  “Your beauty burns from within and radiates outwards, shining from your eyes, gleaming from your hair, flashing from your smile, and it warms all those who are lucky enough to be in your presence.”

 

“You should be a poet, Blaise, with how you wax on,” Hermione huffed. “What is it you wanted to talk about?”

 

“I wish to know why you are…peeved at me?” he informed her, standing behind the chair he had sat in last night, before… “Did my body not please you?”

 

Hermione groaned. “Why does everything have to be about sex?” she half-shouted, half growled. “Every time I turn around!”

 

“You are uncomfortable with sex,” Blaise guessed.  “The physical intimacy of the act?”

 

“I was not raised to treat sex so… so blasé. Yes, the human boy is a perfectly natural thing, but sex…”

 

“Is perfectly natural, too,” Blaise interjected, coming around the chair to stand closer to the head girl.  He took her hands in his. “Our bodies were made for the purpose of physical communion,” he continued, pressing their palms together and then threading his fingers through hers. “The joining of two bodies is a glorious rite which should be celebrated, which is why we are blessed to receive pleasure and not pain from act. But it is so much more than that.”

 

He allowed his fingertips to trail from her hands, up her arms, and begin wondering, gently, almost tickling, over her body. “As magicals, we are blessed to be further in tune with the essence of our life force, our magic, which allows all living things to grow and be. When we come together and join our bodies, it is not simply a physical act for us, but a metaphysical one as well. Because we are more in tune with our magic, we can feel when our essence and being slips and slides against another’s, oftentimes intermingling. It is completely natural, and like most things in nature, it is wondrous, is it not, Hermione?”

 

She was trembling, and he was doing nothing.  Well, nothing overtly. It was a subtle seduction, especially for him. One that should not lead to them being late for their afternoon Charms class, at the very least. He was using his allure to skim over her skin even as his fingers lightly brushed along over her uniform. They were standing close, but not indecently so.

 

“And you, you who are brilliant and blazing,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. “You must feel that energy like heat crackling against your skin, just waiting to burst.”

 

She suddenly pushed him away, panting. “No,” she stated firmly.  “I will not be used like some toy doll.”

 

“You are mistaken,” Blaise soothed. “It is not you who are the toy, Hermione.”

 

“Blaise, just stop,” she ordered, and like that, he did, stepping back and frowning at her again.

 

“You are angry again,” he noted.

 

“I don’t like feeling pressured into having sex,” she snapped. “or anything else for that matter.”

 

“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” he sighed, stepping back even further. “I wanted you to use me for your pleasure.”

 

“You made that offer perfectly clear last night, thank you very much,” she huffed. “Listen, what happened last night—I’m not going to say it was a mistake, but that’s not me, that’s not who I am.”

 

“I think you’re wrong,” Blaise countered. “The woman who used my body last night for her own gratification, she was exactly who you are when you stop forcing herself to contour to other’s expectations of you. When you allow yourself to be free, allow your magic to be unrestrained, that is exactly who you are.”

 

“That shouldn’t have even been possible,” Hermione murmured, turning away and frowning over the puzzle.  “I mean, I’ve always known I had a way with fire and flames, but… I’m not some human torch.”

 

“More like a human bonfire,” he teased lightly, hoping to tempt her into a lighter mood. She shot him an unamused look, so he figured he was unsuccessful. “Well, I agree, it was unusually and highly unlikely, especially for a muggleborn.”

 

She rounded on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means that as a witch with no magical background, it should be impossible for you to have inherited any special magical inheritance, but what happened last night… That was the burning of an elementalist. Fire, specifically, of course. You wouldn’t happen to have been adopted, would you have?”

 

“No. I know how it must seem for you, being a pureblood and seeing me as a muggle born with no magical history in her bloodline, inheriting a magical inheritance. There’s no family magic to bestow a great gift upon me. I’ve read up about inheritances last year, and then again this year after, well, things with Harry, and then talking with Neville, and Luna, and Hannah. I am most definitely my parent’s daughter. I have pictures of my mum pregnant with me and then a ton of pictures of myself as a baby with my mum and dad. I was not adopted.”

 

“Well, I would still suggest visiting Gringotts over the break and doing a blood inheritance test. Your parents might not be normal muggles after all,” Blaise mused. “And meanwhile, you can’t just keep ignoring yourself.”

 

“I’m not, thank you very much.”

 

“Before last night, when was the last time you let yourself burn?”  Hermione was silent. “You’ve never burned before, have you? How long have you know you had inherited the gifts of a fire elemental?”

 

“I noticed almost immediately during first term last year that my fire spells were more powerful. I’ve always been rather good with fire and flame spells. Last year it was simply…more so.  I learned to be more cautious, more controlled when casting spells and charms using flames or fires. I’ve been doing well enough.”

 

“You’re not,” Blaise rebuffed.  “We should go through and make sure everything in here is fire proof.”

 

“I don’t just spontaneously burst into fire,” she protested.

 

“Before,” he added, “but you did last night—not that I minded or anything, but… is it ever too early to be prepared?”

 

“It won’t happen again,” Hermione vowed.

 

“Why not?” Blaise wondered, confused and slightly disappointed that the head girl thought it would really be a one-time thing.

 

“Listen, Blaise.  I’m not like Luna and Hannah. I care about them deeply, I do, but I’m not one to go off chasing after imaginary creatures or gossiping about makeup and things or chase after boys for sex.”

 

“I didn’t think you were, Hermione, but you can’t keep hiding away from the truth, and the truth is, you are a member of your pard, and your pard is a sexual based circle. By withholding yourself from your circle mates you are weakening the strength of the circle. I’m not saying you have to have sex with each person, but you do have to allow yourself to be intimate with them. Not sex, but there’s hugging and holding and other intimacies. And a part of that is being able to be who you truly are.”

 

“I’ll think on it.”

 

“You’ll do more than think on it,” he told her.  “You do a disservice to everyone when you hide who you are.”

 

***** 

 

_\- Hospital Wing, before dinner-_

 

Blaise’s words were still ringing in Hermione’s head later that afternoon after class.  Neville and Hannah had met up with her and Harry outside the Charms classroom, after Blaise had slipped away to join his housemates.  Now she and Hannah were perched up on two bleached white sheet beds, tucked away behind privacy curtains and wards, waiting for the Hospital matron to return.

 

And Harry was… glowering. There really wasn’t any other word for it. 

 

“Stop it,” Hermione leaned over and whispered.  “Madame Pomphrey assured us that this is perfectly safe, and really, it’s only sensible.  Hannah and I are too young to be going through with a pregnancy right now. It’s not safe while we’re still in school.”

 

Madame Pomphrey bustled back into the spelled private area, tray in hand.  “Here we are, ladies. Now, this potion with suspend your cycles right where they are, which means you won’t be experiencing your menses until after you’ve safely delivered.  The charm that coincides with the potion will place a protective bubble around your womb to help stabilize and support the embryo until the counter potion is ingested.  Are you ready? I will need to cast the charm as soon as you’ve finished drinking the potion, so we’ll go one at a time. Then you’ll need to lie there for at least twenty minutes to allow the potion and charm to settle.”

 

“And you’re sure this is safe?” Harry couldn’t help but ask again.

 

“Perfectly, Mr. Potter,” the medi-witch assured him. Once again, she noted to their positioning—Harry was sitting in between the two beds, Hermione to his left and Hannah to his right.  Neville was on the other side of Hannah’s bed sitting next to Luna.  They certainly seemed to have formed a strong friendship, she thought, and although she was saddened to see two young and promising witches come to her with such a request, it most certainly wasn’t the first time. She only hoped the two young heirs had pressured their girlfriends into conceiving a child.  It didn’t look like it, but… one could never tell.

 

“We’ll start with you first, Ms. Granger,” the medi-witch continued, handing one of the potion vials to Hermione. She held her wand at the ready, and when the last drop of the potion was swallowed down, she began the enchantment. It wasn’t a very difficult spell—most of the work was done through the potion. She watched as the last of the soft yellow light faded into the young woman’s abdomen before casting a diagnostic spell that would tell her if the enchantment was taking.

 

“Looks good. Now you just lie there and rest a bit,” she nodded, self-satisfied and the protective magic taking so readily. She turned to the blonde Hufflepuff and began a repeat of the process. Once more, she checked to see if the enchantment had taken and then stepped back, pursing her lips.  “Now, ladies, I hope you understand just how important an undertaking you’ve begun. Motherhood is not a state to be entered into lightly, or alone,” she added, giving both boys a hard look.

 

“Thank you for your assistance, Madame Pomphrey,” Hannah spoke up from the other bed, one hand resting over her abdomen, the other tucked inside one of Neville’s. “We understand, and it is our hope that we will all survive the war and be able to raise our children safely and happily.”

 

The matron nodded before removing herself, allowing the privacy curtains to fall back into place.

 

“Well, that’s done,” Neville sighed, smoothing his thumb along Hannah’s hand.  Hannah squeeze his hand and smiled at him.  “Now to get through winter break.”

 

 

 

***** 

_\- Wednesday, December 10, Hogmeade-_

 

Hermione smacked Harry’s hand away as they approached the train, not for the first time that morning or for the last week for that matter. Harry was already irritable as Blaise had chosen to maintain pretenses and take a different carriage to the train station.  He would stop by and visit with them briefly on the ride back to London, but it never seemed like enough time with the Slytherin boy. Neville was escorting Luna and Hannah, a most common sight, and no one looked twice at any of them.

 

“Will you stop it? I’m fine,” Hermione growled, snatching her handbag. “Go throw some more warming charms on those first years over there if you need to do something,” she told him, giving him a mission away from her.  Not that a little attention and courtesy wasn’t nice, but Harry had been damned near impossible for the last week, and Zabini had not been a calming influence. Not by any means. If anything, their new Slytherin mate had caused more tension and stress all around.

 

The vanteeria seemed to worry more now that there was a mate member in what many of them considered enemy territory. Although Blaise had laughed at them and reassured them all that he was perfectly safe in Slytherin, that he trusted most of his housemates with his life, nothing had really settle the big cat’s worries. There was Hermione’s own embarrassment to her brazen response to the incubus’s taunts and teasing from that first night to contend with, though he was good to his word and had backed off. She was both shocked and appalled at herself, and she wished to completely forget about the entire experience—and, of course, it seemed like neither Blaise nor Harry were going to allow it to pass.  If anything, Harry was trying to mimic some of Blaise’s techniques, and it was driving her near barmy. 

 

Both boys were neigh on insatiable, though, as if they were feeding off of each other. Even bouncing back and forth through the mateship, a day hadn’t gone by where Harry and Blaise hadn’t gotten up to something or another—often multiple times.  Not that she had heard any of the others complain, despite it being term end and there being final exams to study for.  She would need more fingers and toes to count the number of times she’d walked in on one or another canoodling around instead of studying.  And now they were heading home, all of them, off for a three-week vacation. It was certainly going to be an adjustment, that was for sure.

 

And that wasn’t even taking into account the warning letter Harry had received last Tuesday.  They were all fairly sure it was referring to Hermione, since to the school at large, she was Harry’s only girlfriend.  It had succeeded in making not only Harry act more protective and possessive of her, but Neville and Blaise, as well.  She suspected even Hannah and Luna were more alert to their surroundings than before, although they were more sophisticated in their surveillance.

 

She was glad to be heading home for the break. Not only could she use the respite away from Hogwarts, but there were several protection wards she was hoping to put up around her parents’ house now that she was of legal age in both worlds to use her magic freely. Luna and Hannah had helped her research, and Blaise and Neville had offered suggestions as well.  Harry had agreed to help her power and cast the wards. Short of convincing her parents to leave the country—or, in an extreme situation, obliviating them and sending them away—it was the best she could think of to protect them.

 

Neville and Blaise would be staying at their family estates. Hannah was staying with her best friend at the Bones’ family estate. Neville had agreed to check on Luna and the wards around her family home. That left her and Harry as the most exposed, away from the protections offered by being in a wizarding home, and that sat well with no one.

 

Still, they had a fair bit on their plate for the holidays.  This weekend was the full moon. Next week, she and Harry were to visit several different estates belonging to the Potters or Blacks looking for a future home for the pard. They all had created a list of makes and breaks to use while house hunting. If they couldn’t find anything acceptable within the Potter and Black holdings, they would look towards the Longbottom or Zabini properties. As Blaise had told them, his mother’s serial marriages had resulted in quite the number of properties in his family’s holdings, which his mother had blithe-fully signed over the majority of to him upon his 17th year.

 

The week after that was Christmas, and for boxing day they had agreed to all get together—if they hadn’t already. Hannah had teased them all into make a secret bet. They had each written on a slip of paper the date they thought they would make it till until seeking out the others. The slips were tucked away inside an envelope, hidden under one of Hermione’s cauldrons. They would pull them out and look at each other’s predictions when they returned to Hogwarts. The person who guessed the closest would get a boon from all the others.

 

It was a silly thing, but it had perked their spirits for a few moments while they all wrestled with the fact they would be away from each other for nearly three solid weeks.  They wouldn’t return to Hogwarts until the second.  It seemed so far away now, but Hermione knew the time would fly. But first, they had to get on the train and make it through the ride home.

 

She was hopeful for a mostly peaceful ride back to London. The prefects had met briefly last night to review supervision rotation schedules for today and the return trip, there by maximizing everyone’s time with their friends. Still, she was not entirely looking forward to a six-hour train ride, plus another hour and a half car ride on the A23 and M23.  She had tried to tell her parents that she and Harry could just apperate home, but apparently that would rob them of one of the last few experiences they had of picking their daughter up from school.

 

She didn’t even pretend to understand.

 

She helped herd the stragglers onto the train before getting on herself and began looking for Neville and company somewhere along the third car. Blaise wouldn’t be sitting with them, for obvious reasons. He would be sitting in the other car along with the other Slytherin students. Hannah would most likely float between her friends in Hufflepuff and their carriage. Luna would stay with them the entire ride. She expected at least Ron, as well.

 

Indeed, she could hear the ginger before she even looking into the compartment.

 

“I’m not really looking forward to this Christmas,” Ron was saying glumly. “Thought about possibly staying over at Hogwarts this year, but I couldn’t do it. The only going for it is Mum’s probably already busy cooking up a storm.”

 

“Ron, you’d be looking forward to any opportunity to eat,” Neville teased gently. “Are your brothers all returned, then?”

 

“Yeah. Bill had already put in for a transfer last year so he could be closer to home and help out with the war and all,” Ron confided. “I didn’t really think Charlie would’ve left his dragons in Romania for anything, but he’d up and requested a transfer to the Welsh Reserve before Halloween. Told them he’d up and quit if they didn’t approve it.  Charlie loves Romania, but he came home to help search. Got back a couple of weeks ago, I think.

 

“The twins and Percy have been helping a lot, too, but they won’t really tell me what all,” he sighed.  “It’s pretty crappy that it took something like this to get Percy to come back to the family.  I heard he’s even acknowledging Dad again at the Ministry. I know mum’s been taking it poorly. I must’ve gained a stone at least from all the pies and tarts she’s been sending. Mum always cooks and cleans when she’s stressed.”

 

“It’s understandable,” Neville tried to console. “Not knowing is sometimes more difficult than a definite knowing.” He looked up at Hermione, a little desperate for her to intervene.

 

“It’s important not to give up hope,” the head girl said, stepping into the carriage.  “Ginny’s alive, and they’re going to find her, Ron.”

 

“It feels like second year all over again, except, she’s not hidden somewhere in the castle. I’ve been studying maps, trying to pick out a pattern to all the attacks. Problem is, I don’t think the paper’s reporting all of them.”

 

“They aren’t,” Harry agreed, stepping in behind Hermione, both of their trunks in tow.

 

“Have you seen more?” Ron questioned painfully.

 

Harry grimaced. He couldn’t tell his friend what he did know—he couldn’t stomach to tell anyone that, not even his mates.  And the truth of the matter was, he’d been having less vision dreams about the Dark Lord and his death eaters in the last month. He wasn’t sure, but he wondered if it might have had something to do with the mateship.  In the last week, he’d actually not had one vision dream, and he knew the Death Eaters were still active. The paper was still full of news of raids and attacks, kidnappings and murders. 

 

Still…“I don’t know where they are, Ron. I’m sorry.”

 

“’s not your fault,” the redhead sighed, slumping.

 

Harry looked over helplessly towards Hermione, wondering what they could do for their oldest friend. They might have been spending their time a bit differently this year, school and responsibility pulling them in slightly different directions, but Ron was still his first friend, even before Hermione. There were some things, though, that he just couldn’t share with the redhead. Things like his creature inheritance, the fact that he was actively sleeping with five other people, one of whom was a Slytherin—sure to send the Gryffindor on a tear—that the last time he had vision-seen Ginny, she was drugged out of her mind and happily being raped by the Dark Lord himself.

 

Nope. Not happening. He was definitely not ready to tell Ron any of those things.

 

“Exploding snap, anyone?” Neville offered.

 

Hermione pulled out the book she planned to read on the ride.  Luna shifted and settled against her, continuing to read her own book. It promised to be a long ride.

 

 

Still to come…

  * Harry meets the Granger parents
  * Holidays & House hunting
  * More Death Eater Drama
  * Maybe a Voldie and Harry meeting? 



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has been giving me more trouble than Blaise. Have a little bit of a holiday break myself right now, so I'm going to see if I can't take care of another chapter before I get sucked into something else.   
> Thanks for keeping with this, guys. Your comments actually succeed in making me feel guilty for not updating more often, so then I pull it up on my processor and type out a bit more. Yes, this story is not abandoned, it just has a lazy author who'd rather be reading at this point in her life.


	26. Meet the Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is formally introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and well... they find out a little bit more about what their daughter has been up to while at school.

26 – Meet the Parents – 

~THEN~ 

“Holidays,” Hermione said. “My parents are inviting you over for the holidays. They don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “About us, I mean. Me and you. They don’t know yet, but I’d like to tell them, by the end of the holidays at the very latest. Not about anything else yet, but I think they should at least know I’m involved in a serious, long-term relationship now.” 

“Yeah, I can see how that might be important to them.” 

 

~NOW~  
\- Wednesday, December 10, London- 

 

George Edward Granger waited somewhat impatiently between platforms 9 and 10. His wife, Patricia, was still at work, covering for him while he picked up their only daughter and her friend from the train station for the holidays. Despite it being the middle of the week, the station was alive and bustling with commuter and holiday traffic. Although, maybe that wasn’t so unusual, he mused, shifting anxiously from foot to foot, clapping his hands to help keep them warm. The colder months might still be ahead, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still bloody cold out. 

He saw others also queuing up, waiting nearby, and he thought they must be like him and his wife, non-magical parents to magical children. Miraculous children. Goodness knows, his Hermione was amazing and wondrous. She had finally been able to give them a small practical and—more importantly--controlled demonstration of all the various things she had been learning for the past six years. It was nice to be able to finally see where their tuition was going towards, but even more than that, it was amazing to see their wonderful, brilliant daughter so assured and confident. 

He suspected a good bit of that confidence and self-assuredness was a result of finally having people around her who could understand and relate to her on a level her elementary school mates couldn’t. Friends. Trish and he knew how important friends were—they’d been friends before they became involved. They both relied heavily on their good friends throughout the years since neither of their families were really in the picture much anymore. George’s birth father had disappeared in the war, before he was even born; his mother had remarried before he was six. Felix Kite had been a decent man to both George’s mother and himself, but he wasn’t really father material. In fact, George remained an only child despite his parents’ nearly fifteen years of marriage. Felix and his mother had been killed in an auto accident when he was away at Uni. 

Patricia had a similar sad family history—as many did from his generation. The war had had devastating effects. Her entire family, save for a brother, had perished during the blitz. The two siblings had been homed in an orphanage before being adopted out to separate families and never saw each other again. He knew she had tried some years ago to look her brother up, the same as he had tried to find any information he could on his birth father. After all, both being students of science, they firmly believed that Hermione’s talents must have come from somewhere. Unfortunately, they had both been unsuccessful. 

Not that it really mattered, he supposed. What was, was. You dealt with what life handed you, and you carried on. It’s just what you did. 

And why was he thinking such dreary thoughts when his daughter was about to step through the gateways between her wondrous magical world and his everyday world, coming home to them once again. It wasn’t always a guarantee. When she had been younger, Hermione had been very close to both her parents, but as was natural, as she got older—or, rather, after she went away to school—she seemed to pull more and more away from them, preferring to spend holidays with her friends as opposed to her parents. Trish and he had been torn between exhilaration at knowing their girl was making friends and longing…. Wishing to see their baby and spend time with her again. Trish and he had only been bless with one child, Hermione, and not for lack of trying—unlike with his own parents. And Hermione had been such a beautiful, good baby, an adorable toddler, and a precocious child. 

They weren’t sure what she would do after she graduated from school. Sure, she had talked to them about several career options, but they still worried about where they would fit into their daughter’s life now that she was considered an adult in the magical world. In a preemptive strike, they had discussed inviting some of her friends over for the holidays. Did it unsettle him that the people she seemed to mention most were boys? Hell, yes. He was a father of a very lovely and brilliant daughter. But needs must, and sometimes drastic measures needed to be taken. 

Of course, this wasn’t really a drastic measure. They had the space for guest. And he was more than a little curious to really get an opportunity to get to know the boy. He knew one of Hermione’s friends came from a large family, but the other one, Harry, he was an orphan, like Trish, living with extended family. Harry was the one Trish and he had invited to spend the holidays with them. Trish suspected something going on between their daughter and the boy, which made him even more nervous and impatient for them to arrive. 

Children began filling the platform, pushing trollies full of trunks and cages—cats and owls a-plenty. Parents began peeling off and collecting their children, leading them away. Hermione, he knew, would probably be one of the last ones through. She was head girl this year, and George knew how diligently his little girl treated her responsibilities. The rush of children quickly trickled down into a doddering of ones and twos until it seemed like no one else would be emerging. The other parents who had been waiting nearby were all gone as well by the time Hermione appeared, leading a young man who was pushing a trolley with two trunks, an empty bird cage, and the demon cat. 

“Daddy!” She called, rushing to him and throwing her arms around him. He wrapped her up, equally as enthusiastic, picking her up off her feet—much to the protest of his back. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, nor was he a younger man. 

“There’s my girl,” he greeted, giving an extra squeeze before releasing her. 

“Daddy, I’d like you to meet Harry Potter,” Hermione introduced, stepping back and gesturing to the young man who was standing by patiently watching the father and daughter reunion. “Harry,” she continued, turning to the waiting teen, “this is my father, George Granger. Is mum still at work?” she asked, turning back to her father. 

“Yes,” George confirmed. “We figured one of us should stay and cover the office. Gives us a little bit more room in the car. Harry, it’s good to see you again.” 

“Good to see you again, too, sir,” the boy returned, hastily stepping forward with his hand extended. Good, firm grip, George thought as they shook. “Thank you for having me for the holidays. I know it must be an inconvenience.” 

“No inconvenience,” George waved away the boy’s words. “If anything, you’ve ensured our girl comes home. Now, come along. I’ve brought the estate car so we should have no trouble fitting both your trunks in the boot.” 

The two teens shared a look, but George decided to ignore it and lead the way to the public car park. “So, how was the school term?” he asked. “It went well, I think,” Hermione answered immediately. “We won’t know how we did on our exams until after holiday, of course, but all things considered, I think I passed.” 

“I know you did,” Harry interrupted. “You’ve never failed at a single class before, even when you were taking all of them.” 

“Yes, well, this year has been challenging, what with being head girl and it being an exam year,” Hermione continued on as if Harry hadn’t said anything. “Did I tell you and mum that Harry’s the head boy, as well?”

“Yes, I believe I remember reading that.” 

“Well, he’s had loads of great ideas for things to do to raise school spirit and spread house unity—“

“You had some ideas, yourself,” Harry reminded her, but once again, she continued on. 

“And the school’s really been responding. There are a lot of things I wish I’d have had when I was a younger student.” 

“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” George responded as he popped the boot open, darting a look between the two teens. Yep, there was definitely something going on between the two, whether official or not. Hermione was babbling on like she did whenever she was nervous or excited about something. Since he highly doubted she was that excited to be coming home for the holidays….Trish had been right, again. Damn. 

Harry stepped forward and hefted one trunk after the other into the boot, swinging them easily without any effort. George gave the boy another look over—he hadn’t looked that strong, but he knew from experience just how heavy Hermione’s trunk could get. Seeing his look, Harry smiled and gave him a wink. 

“Feather-lite charm,” he explained. “Makes them a lot easier to manage.” 

“Harry, do you want to sit up front?” Hermione asked, settling Crookshanks into the backseat. 

“Nah, that’s all right. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take the back. That way you and your dad can talk.” 

Hermione shot him a look but didn’t fuss. They chatted about odds and ends, topics spanning the practice, the house upkeep, news about the extended family—Trish’s adopted sisters and brothers, although they didn’t get together very often, still occasionally checked in with each other. Hermione talked about the different happenings at her school, the clubs and programs she had been helping put together, and some of the research projects that had taken her fancy. 

They were just gone half way back to the house when he, “So, how long have you two been together?” 

Hermione blinked. “Daddy,” she said, sounding confused, “Harry and I met on the first train ride to Hogwarts, don’t you remember me telling you? We’re in the same year and same house. Been friends since our first year.” 

He spared his daughter a look—a quick glance to tell him his normally astute daughter was not being purposefully obtuse. Well, that was somewhat of a relief. He would have hated to think his baby girl was purposefully hiding a relationship or her feelings from him—before using the mirror to look at the boy in the backseat. Harry was looking directly back at him, and there was a hardness to the boy’s face that unsettled him. 

The boy nodded at him before adding, “Yes, Hermione and I have been friends since our first year, but to answer your question, we only got together this year. Although, to hear some of our friends talk, we’ve been together for years and just didn’t know it.” 

“Oh!” Hermione blushed. “Well, yes, that is, I mean to say, I had wanted to tell you and mum in person, but, yes, Harry and I got together just this year, if you mean in a romantic sense.” 

“I see.” 

There wasn’t much said the rest of the journey home.

\--- 

Hermione’s mother was already home when they pulled up the drive to the garage. She emerged from the kitchen, dishtowel in hand, beaming a wide smile as they piled out of the car. 

“Mum!” Hermione cried, rushing forward to envelope the woman, while Harry helped her father unload the trunks from the boot, all the way shooting surreptitious glances at their surroundings. 

He’d always suspected Hermione came from a well-to-do family; the type the Dursleys always tried to portray themselves as but somehow always fell short. It was subtler, less flashy. It wasn’t that they lived in a big house, or that their yard looked immaculately landscaped. In fact, their home was modest, Harry thought, maybe even a little smaller than the Dursley’s; and the yard was a mess of potted plants and bushes (most looking dead or dormant). Even the patch of lawn looked to have seen better days, Harry mused. 

As Mr. Granger and he brought the trunks forward, Mrs. Granger finally released Hermione, and Harry got a good look at the older woman. She looked a lot like Hermione, or Hermione looked a lot like her, he supposed: wild, curly hair that was cut short and pinned back, warm brown eyes, and a wide, beaming smile. 

“Harry,” she practically gushed, and he felt more than a little unconformable and nervous that she might glomp at his as she did her daughter. “It’s so good to see you again. I’m so pleased that you could stay with us for the holiday. Won’t you come in? I have a kettle all set to boil. Was the traffic very awful, dear?” she asked her husband as she shepherded Harry and Hermione into the house. “Oh, do you want to take the trunks right on upstairs, George? That way they won’t be in the way down here.” 

“I can do it,” Harry rushed to offer, but Mrs. Granger actually batted his arm at the suggestion. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him. “It’ll do him good to do a bit of extra work.” 

“Not to worry,” Mr. Granger pronounced. “With those spells you put on them, they’re easy enough to manage. Sit down, and I won’t be but a mo’.” 

Harry looked over towards Hermione, questioning, but she just smiled. “It’s okay, Harry. Let Dad take the trunks while I introduce you proper to my mum. Mum, as you already know, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my mum, Patricia Granger.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Mrs. Granger,” he responded automatically. He sketched a quick bow, like Andromedea had drilled into him over the summer, and the other woman laughed lightly. 

“Oh, aren’t you a charmer,” she proclaimed, brown eyes twinkling mischeiveously as she shot a look at her daughter. “Be careful, Hermione. You must be beating away the other girls with those broomsticks you mentioned.” 

“Err,” Harry startled. “No, we fly on the broomsticks. We use the beater bats to knock the bludgers away.” 

“My mum doesn’t really know about quidditch, Harry,” Hermione laughed, patting his shoulder as she directed him to a seat at the table. “It’s just a saying, to beat something away with a stick.” 

“Quidditch? What a weird word,” Mrs. Granger responded. “What is it?” 

“It’s a sport, mum,” Hermione explained. “Seven players to a team. Harry’s actually on the Gryffindor team back at school.” 

“Oh, you play sports,” Mr. Granger asked, returned red-faced and slightly short of breath. 

“Just quidditch, sir,” Harry answered modestly. 

“Harry was the youngest person to join the team in over a century,” Hermione proclaimed proudly. “He’s been on the team since our first year. Normally first years aren’t even allowed to try out for the team, but Harry is a natural at flying. He really is amazing to watch.” 

“I believe Hermione mentioned something about another club you and she started?” her mother broke in through Hermione’s gushing. “Something about defense, wasn’t it?” 

“Ah, yeah, the DA—well, originally we jokingly called it ‘Dumbledore’s Army’ because we were angry with our Defense teacher at the time. She was sent by the ministry to spy on us because they were afraid Professor Dumbledore was raising an army to rise against the ministry,” Harry explained, shaking his head in disgust. “Now, we call it the ‘Defense Association’. It’s basically a study group for anyone who wants to practice a little more defense.” 

“We’ve branched out now, too,” Hermione went on. “Harry came to school this year with a lot of great ideas on how to improve student relations and even academics. It’s been a lot of work, but completely worth it.” 

“I might have had some ideas,” Harry protested, “But you had a lot of good ones, too. Plus, you did almost all of the organizing and scheduling.” 

“Maybe, but you’re the one who thought to delegate out and let the other prefects handle a lot of the detail work,” Hermione countered. 

“Sounds like you two make a good team,” Mrs. Granger broke in, setting the tea service on the table, shooting a smirking glance towards her husband who sighed wearily as he accepted his cup of tea. 

“Yes, you were right,” he announced, sounding rather grumbly.

Mrs. Granger continued to smile as she took up her teacup. “I rather thought so.” 

“Oh, erm, yes,” Hermione piped up, remember what her father had said in the car. “Harry and I are also together, romantically now. I would say we are dating, except, we don’t really go anyway.”

“Well, there’s always Hogsmeade,” Harry pointed out. 

“That’s not really a date, though,” Hermione protested. 

“We could always do something while we’re on holiday,” he suggested. “I mean, if there’s someplace you wanted to go. 

“I don’t think typical dating works like that, Harry,” Hermione sighed. 

He shrugged, trying not to let the remark niggle. “I wouldn’t know. I gave up dating anyone after the disaster with Cho.” 

“We’ve talked about that, Harry. You should have never have mentioned your plans to meet up with me while you were on a date with another girl. It’s just not right.” 

Laughter broke into their would-be argument, and Mrs. Granger had to wipe at her eyes. “Oh, you two have been together a while, haven’t you. George, why don’t you and Harry go settle into the living room while Hermione and I finish getting dinner ready?” she suggested. 

“I could help,” Harry offered immediately, but Mrs. Granger just shooed him away. “Go, relax a bit. Leave me some mother-daughter time. I’m sure her father will be wanted more time with her, too. They’ll be going on about the books they’ve read before the meal is over, trust me.” 

And so it was, only a handful of minutes later, Harry found himself sitting on the sofa across from George Granger, who sat in his favorite sitting chair, silently sipping at the remains of his tea. In silence. Sipping. In silence. Trying another to stare at anything. 

“You understand, Harry, that Hermione is very dear to her mother and I,” Mr. Granger finally started. “And as such, we want only the best for our girl.” 

“Sir, you’re Hermione’s father, and I respect you for that,” Harry responded. “Your daughter is amazing. She’s… she’s brilliant and stunning, and she’s my best friend. I can’t even tell you how many times she’s saved my life or helped me in some way, shape, or form, because it’s too many to count. And if I didn’t already love her for all those reasons and more, I’d be an idiot. Maybe I am an idiot, because it took me so long to realize how I really felt about her, but I think you should know, there’s not a thing I wouldn’t do to protect and keep her safe. Hermione is not just a girlfriend, she’s my best friend first. It is never my intention to hurt her, and I would hurt anyone who even thought about hurting her.” 

George Granger frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the young man, but… this was his only child they were talking about. For years, he and Trisha had tried for a child, and there had been many miscarriages before they had been blessed with their daughter. She was their pride and joy—even with her special abilities. 

“And if she decides she wants to date someone else?” he asked, before pointing out what he felt was only reasonable. “After all, you’re both young still. Haven’t even finished school. Have you even thought about what you’re going to do after this year?” 

Hermione dating someone else wasn’t really an option Harry had to worry about, but Hermione had decided not to bombard her parents with all the details of their relationship this trip. Hermione had felt that just informing her parents that she was in a relationship with someone was enough for her parents to adjust to. If things went well, she’d argued, then the next step might be informing them that some magical people had special inheritances and Harry was one of them. Hermione wanted to wait until at least Hogwarts was over before even breaching the topic of a multi-amorous relationship with her mum and dad. It was… quite a foreign idea for most English folks. 

However, Hermione wasn’t here right now. Harry was, and even the idea of Hermione possibly ‘dating’ someone else was enough to raise his hackles. Hermione was his, his queen, and no one would threaten that. “Hermione is mine,” Harry stated, unflinchingly. “Mine to protect and mine to cherish. We’re young, yes, but our magic is strong and highly compatible. In that, we’re already bonded.” 

“Wait a minute there,” George broke in before Harry could continue, warning bells and flags and whistles going off in his head. “Hermione is her own person, she’s not a possession! And just what the hell do you mean, you’ve already bonded?” 

“She is mine, and I am hers. There is no going back. I will see that she is provided for, what she wants, she will have, whether it be material things like books or houses, or immaterial things, like safety, security. She is mine,” Harry repeated. “And in return, I am hers. She will be the mother of my children, my wife, my queen.” 

“You sound demented,” her father growled. “And just what has Hermione said to all of this?” 

“She has agreed.” 

“What!” 

“We are bonded, and have been for several months,” Harry went on. “Magic itself bonded us.”

“So you’re what, married?” 

Harry frowned. “In a sense, yes, you could say we are.” 

 

*** 

“He seems like a very nice boy,” Patricia Granger told her daughter as they worked together to prepare dinner. Harry had offered, but they had shooed him away. She hoped George was being kind to the boy—not that George was a mean man by any lengths. No, but he could be a bit protective, especially of their daughter. 

Hermione smiled. “I knew you would like him if you got a chance to really meet him.” 

“He always seemed so sad and reserved the few times we saw him while picking you up before.” 

“Yes, well, Harry’s home life wasn’t very good,” Hermione confided, frowning. “Not that he ever said very much of anything, but, well, there were signs. I wish I had realized them sooner,” Hermione sighed. “By the time I started figuring out just how not good things were for him, well, it was too late to make much of a difference for him.” 

“Was he abused?” Trish whispered. 

Hermione’s frown twitched. “I’m fairly sure it was more a case of neglect that actual physical abuse. I know he sometimes got hit, and I’m almost positive there was mental abuse going on, but… I was so blind. Why couldn’t I have seen it sooner?” 

“Hermione, you were a child. It’s not your job to see those types of things in others. The adults in his life should have recognized the signs and done something. His teachers and doctors, and your professors at school. They failed him, sweetie, not you.” 

“harry was good at hiding it. It’s not surprising they didn’t know.” 

“Abused children often are, but that doesn’t excuse the adults in his life failing him. I’m glad he had you for a friend, though. Friends are important.” 

“Yes, they are, and he is my best friend. I’m so glad he agreed to come for the holidays. Thank you for inviting him.” 

“Well, it wasn’t for completely altruistic reasons, I’ll admit. I know your other friend comes from a big family, but you always tend to mention Harry, and if I recall, every year he stays over for the holidays.” 

“Yes, that’s true. Except for—“

“For the one year, when you went stayed over someplace in London. Yes, I remember,” her mother smiled sadly. “You were gone for most of the summer, too.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione responded, feeling suddenly guiltier than she had in a while in regards to her parents. “I haven’t really been including you much in anything going on in the magical world. It’s not because I’m ashamed of you.” 

“No, I didn’t think it was,” her mother assured her. “But I have eyes, Hermione. I can tell things have been happening, bad things.” 

“There’s a bit of a war,” she confessed. “It’s, well, it’s not going very well.” Hermione collapsed into a seat at the table, her mother joining her. “In fact, it’s pretty bad.” 

“Can you tell me what’s happening?” Trish asked, reaching out to clasp her daughter’s hands. “Is it safe? Are you safe? No, of course, not, what a silly question. You just said there was a war going on,” she grumbled. 

“I’m… I being as safe as I can be, but, well, these terrorists are awful and cruel and, mum, the leader is after Harry.” 

“What? Why?” 

“When he was a baby, his parents fought against this group, and they died protecting Harry. Their leader was incapacitated, but he returned several years ago, and he’s been making things worse again. There have been attacks all over the country. No one is safe—not magicals or non-magicals. I haven’t told you or dad anything because I didn’t want you to worry, because there’s nothing you can really do.” 

“We still deserve the right to know,” her mother told her, frowning. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

“And it’s not true. Surely there has to be something we can do.” 

“Short of selling the practice and moving to Australia?” Hermione quipped. “Believe me, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought.” 

“I’m sure you have, but your Dad and I have a bit more experience than you, young lady. You should have told us.” 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated, feeling miserable. 

“Well, what’s done is done,” Trish said. “Best to deal with it and carry on.” 

Hermione’s lips twitched in a weak smile at her mum’s favorite saying. 

“Speaking of which, we’d best carry on with dinner before your dad scares your boyfriend.” 

“Harry doesn’t scare that easily,” Hermione laughed, getting to her feet as well. “And dad just isn’t that scary.” 

“Maybe not when compared some of the escapades you’ve been up to over the years at that school of yours, but I’ll ask you this—has he ever had to deal with the father of his girlfriend?” 

“Mum!” Hermione protested before pausing. “I might just go check on them,” she announced, heading for the door. 

*** 

“So you’re what, married?” she could hear her father’s voice, even from down the hall, and her steps quickened enough for her to hear Harry’s calm reply. 

“In a sense, yes, you could say we are.” 

She nearly choked, pushing open the door fully to stare at them, horrified. “What is going on in here?” she demanded, looking from one to the other. 

“Hermione, I think it was a mistake to—“ her father began before being cut off by her turning towards Harry and talking around him. 

“What did you say to him,” she growled, stepping into the room and smacking his arm. “I told you I didn’t want to tell them everything.” 

“They’re your parents, Hermione,” Harry argued. “You can’t just keep keeping important things from them, and I won’t stand here and listen to anyone saying you might leave me for someone else.” 

Hermione groaned and turned to her father. “You didn’t?” 

“I only pointed out that you’re both young. People change.” 

She sighed and turned away. “Harry, you know better than that. My dad just found out we’re together. We’ve talked about this.” 

“Hermione?” her mother called, having followed her daughter out of the kitchen after hearing raised voices. “Maybe we should hold dinner for a bit and all sit down. It sounds like there’s a lot you haven’t told us that maybe you should have?” 

She presented it as a suggestion, but Hermione was familiar enough with her mother’s mannerisms to know a demand when she heard it. Taking Harry’s arm, she escorted him over to a sofa and sat down, tugging him down beside her. Her dad was still standing, but her mum had walked in and taken a seat in her favorite armchair, smoothing her pants down her thighs and crossing her legs neatly at the ankle, looking at the two teens expectantly. “Where shall we start first? This war that’s taking place? Your relationship with Harry? Or is there another place?” 

“Well, really,” Harry spoke up first, shooting Hermione a look. “They’re all connected. The war has been going on a long time in the wizarding world, before we were even born. Really, I think it goes back to even World War II,” he went on, looking to Hermione again for confirmation. 

“You could say the roots of the conflict go back even further. It’s prejudism, simply put. Some magicals believe they are better than others, not because of their skin color but because of how long they can trace their magical family history. They call themselves purebloods because all of their known family members are magicals. Someone who has a non-magical in their family history is called a half-blood. Harry is considered a half-blood because two of his grandparents are non-magical. Because I am the first person in my known family to be magic, they call me a muggle-born.” 

“Or a first generation,” Harry quickly offered. 

“Not many use that term,” Hermione scoffed. 

“Give it time,” Harry encouraged, grinning. “We’re just getting started.” He turned back to look at her parents. “My mum was also a first generation.” 

“There was a magical war that coincided with World War II. And then again, twenty years later. It ended when the new ringleader attacked Harry’s parents.” 

“Well, it was temporarily postponed. Everyone thought he died, but he didn’t. He was…”

“Hurt,” Hermione supplied. 

Harry nodded. “He was hurt, and he hid away, so many thought he was dead, but he wasn’t. It wasn’t until about a year ago that people realized he was back.” 

“But we knew,” Hermione cut in. “We’ve known he was back since our first year at Hogwarts. Harry fought him, beat him.” 

“In your first year?” Patricia gaped, trying to picture a little eleven or twelve year old boy fighting against a terrorist. 

“We didn’t know it was him. Didn’t find out it was him until the very end of the year.” 

“And then Harry battled with an incarnation of the same terrorist during our second year.” 

“It was at the end of our fourth year that others really became aware that he was back. He reached out to his old followers and they started to regroup. The last two years have been pretty bad and only getting worse.” 

“The thing is, he keeps coming after me. He wants to finish was he started sixteen years ago when he murdered my parents.” 

“So you’re a target?” George Granger asked woodenly, staring in disbelief at his daughter’s boyfriend. 

“We all are,” Hermione tried to explain. 

“But yes, I’m a high risk target, and so is your daughter. Because of me.” 

“It’s not your fault, Harry. I was already a target because of my supposed blood-status,” Hermione huffed. “If anything, I’m actually safer because we’re together.” 

Harry shook his head. “They already know how important you were to me, but now…” he shook his head again. 

“Now we’ve been practicing more protective magic,” she reminded him. “We’re getting better and stronger every day. Now we have friends who will stand with us, fight with us.” 

“You shouldn’t be fighting at all!” her father shouted. 

“I’m not going to just run away and hide!” Hermione shouted back. “These people want to kill you just because you don’t have magic. They want to kill me because they think I’m unworthy to use magic. Not fighting is not an option, dad, and you need to understand that.” 

“So,” her mother drawled, gathering her thoughts. “There’s a war going on in the magical world in which the leader of these terrorists want you dead,” she summed up, looking towards Harry. “And my daughter is involved, not only because she fits the standards for these terrorists, but also because of her relationship with you.” 

“Yes.” 

“No!” Hermione shouted again. “I mean, yes, but no!” 

“But you’re also saying,” she continued, looking at her daughter, “That being near Harry is actually safer for you because his protection is extended to you?” 

“Yes,” Hermione sighed. 

“No,” Harry denied. 

“Not that that isn’t a lot to take in, but I suspect there’s still more?” Patricia hedged. 

“More! I think that’s ruddy well more than enough!” George shouted. 

“George, be quiet and sit down,” his wife ordered before turning back to her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend.

Harry and Hermione shared another look, this one along the lines of ‘how much should we tell them now?’ Harry was the one to turn back first. 

“Apparently the magical world has some dirty little secrets in its history,” Harry told them. “One of those secrets is that somewhere along the line, magical beings crossed with humans and witches and wizards were born.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s an origin of magic story,” Hermione explained. “And it seems likely because every so often, a magical child will be born and when they go through their inheritance when they’re seventeen, well, usually they get a little magical boost, but sometimes they inherit a bit more than just some extra power.” 

“We get a creature inheritance.” 

“And you, you’re one of these creatures now?” 

“Well, yes and no,” Harry responded, but he was unsure of how to go about explaining something he wasn’t all one hundred percent sure about either. He looked back towards Hermione, willing her to take over the explanation again.

“Harry received a shape-shifting ability. He can transform into a black panther.” 

“But your professor, the one who visited us—“ 

“Professor McGonagall.” 

“Yes, she transformed into a cat for us. Is she also one of these magical creatures?” 

“Well, she’s a witch, so it’s possible, but, um, actually, I don’t know,” Hermione hemmed. 

“It’s actually a bit of a personal thing,” Harry supplied. “Most people don’t go around announcing that their family genetics have popped out wings or scales.” 

“Is that possible?” George asked agahst. 

“Well, I can grow wings.” Harry frowned. “I don’t actually know about the scales.” 

“Probably,” Hermione answered. “Not you,” she rushed to assure Harry. “But someone else, yes, I think it might be possible. Anyway, back to what we were saying before. Pretty much most of the mythical and fantastical creatures that exist in stories can be found somewhere in the magical world, and I guess that makes sense, right, because, I mean, the magical and non-magical worlds weren’t always separate, so there must have been more cross-over, which would explain—“ 

“Hermione,” her mother called sing-song-like. “You were going to tell us something?” 

“Yes. Yes, I was.” 

“And that was…?” 

“Well, Harry, you see, he had his inheritance this summer, and he’s been experiencing some changes, even before we discovered he could shape-shift, and well, it’s one of the reasons we ended up getting together this year.” 

“Our magic bonded,” Harry said again, looking pointedly at Mr. Granger. 

“What does that mean, exactly?” mrs. Granger wanted to know. 

“Well, for all intents and purposes, it is rather like being married,” Hermione told her. “There wasn’t an official ceremony or anything, so it isn’t really a marriage in that sense, but magically… Well, it would stand up in a court of magical law.” 

“It would?” 

“Yes, it would,” Hermioine reassured him. “Hannah and I looked it up, but it was Luna who really pointed us in the right direction.” 

“Who are Hannah and Luna?” 

“They’re friends. Hannah’s in our year, a Hufflepuff, but we share many classes together. She’s dating our other very good friend, Neville. Luna’s a year behind us, but we are all in defense club together, and well, Luna’s practically family,” she concluded, stroking and petting Harry’s leg to hopefully keep his inner cat calm. “We all hang out a lot before and after classes.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention these other people.” 

“Well, it wasn’t until this year, really, that we all became such good friends. I mean, we were all friends before, but this year, we became closer.” 

“That’s nice. I’m glad to hear you’re making more friends.” 

“I am. I’m happy, mum, really. I know it sounds a bit strange, but so does owning a magic wand and brewing potions.” 

“And flying broomsticks,” Harry added. “It’s strange, it’s different. It’s magical. Sometimes you just…” 

“Deal with it and carry on,” Hermione mused, repeating back her mum’s favorite saying. Neither of her parents looked too amused, though. 

“So there’s a war going on, you’re both high targets in this war, you’re for all intents and purposes, magically married,” her mum recapped. “Is there anything else we should know before we all sit down to dinner?”

“We’re pregnant.” 

“Harry!” Hermione practically screeched, whipping around and smacking his arm again. 

“Might as well get it all out,” he defended. “Like a plaster, tear it off quickly.” He turned back to the two elder Grangers who looked mottled—flushed and pale. “I’m the last Potter heir. My family has quite a bit of holdings. Hermione offered, and I accepted, for her to be the mother of my children. So you see, Mr. Granger, I wasn’t being domineering or making decisions for your daughter when I said Hermione is mine to protect and love and cherish. My creature will allow for nothing less. She is not a possession, or, if you must think of it as possession, think of it as being equally possessive. She is mine, and I am hers. I will do everything in my power to see that she is taken care of, that she wants for nothing, that she is protected and safe.” 

“And in return, I will do the same,” Hermione promised. “For I will allow for nothing less. You are mine. Mine to protect, mine to love, mine to cherish.” 

Harry raised their clasped hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles. 

“Oh, my god, Hermione. Just what has been going on at that school of yours? It’s like you’ve been brainwashed!” 

“It’s not mind control, dad. Really.” 

“Hermione, you’re so young—only eighteen. You have your whole life ahead of you.” 

“Yes, I do. That hasn’t changed, Mum.” 

“But a baby…” 

“It’s not even an embryo yet,” Hermione interrupted. “And we’ve cast a spell that will interrupt the normal gestation period. Essentially, my reproductive organs are in a state of stasis until the spell is removed, and then the pregnancy will continue as normal. I’ve promised, if something does happen to Harry, I will go into hiding at least until the baby is safely born. This gives us both the opportunity to complete our last year and still guarantees Harry that his family’s name and magic will live on.” 

“This all sound incredible.” 

“Incredibly crazy! Really, Trish!” 

“George, don’t shout,” Patricia ordered, shooting a glare at the man who was still standing, refusing to sit. 

“I don’t like it.” 

“That’s obvious. Unfortunately, whether we like it or not will not change the facts. How safe is this spell, this stasis spell you called it? Will it have any other effects? Will you still be able to have children in the future?” 

“It’s fairly safe. It’s an older spell, not really used much anymore, and it should have no lasting effects once it is removed. I should be able to have more children if I wish.” 

“I wouldn’t have agreed to the spell if I thought for a minute it would harm her or the baby.” 

“You say that, but you’re the reason she needed that spell.” 

“Actually,” Hermione winced. “That’s not exactly true, either.” 

“What?” 

“What?” 

“Well, remember when we first talked about children, and I said I would have yours?” 

“Vividly.” 

“Hannah, Luna, and I were discussing things… and, well, I realized I’d basically made a vow and started a ritual. There was no other outcome but for me to get pregnant. If I hadn’t of done that, I could probably have used a regular contraceptive and not have had to worry about it.” 

Harry blinked, trying to process that. “So you mean…” he said, thinking of the others. Hermione and Hannah were pregnant. Sure, it had only been a couple of months, but they had gotten pregnant pretty quickly. They had made the choice not to use any contraceptives—any of them. Which meant Luna could have gotten pregnant at any time, but she hadn’t. Neville had to go into his ‘season’—something Harry still wasn’t completely sure about; and he didn’t know much of anything about Blaise other than he was very, very talented at sex. Could it have been possible that the only reason Hermione and Hannah had gotten pregnant so quickly was because of their magic? 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t know what to say, Hermione. This is a lot to take in.” 

“I know, mum. I didn’t want to drop this all on your lap at once, but I also didn’t want to just tell you in a post.” 

“No, I can see that. Your father and I were going to remind you of our expectations. Harry has the guest bedroom set up for him. Despite this new information, I expect him to sleep in his room.” 

Hermione’s lips pressed together as she fought a frown. It took her a moment before she was able to respectful reply to her mother’s expected look. “Yes, mum.” 

“Good. Now, Harry, as you are a guest in our home, you should understand that there is to be no hanky-panky going on. I know you might think it’s a little late for that, after all, what’s done is done, and the consequences have already been dealt, but—“ 

“Mrs. Granger, I can understand where you’re coming from, but I would like to ask you to reconsider, sleeping arrangements, in the very least. Quite honestly, I suffer from horrible nightmares, and sleeping next to someone, having a living comfy actually helps a great deal.” 

“I’m sorry for your suffering, Harry, but I cannot condone allowing you to stay in Hermione’s room.” 

Hermione pinched Harry in a bid to stop him talking. Thankfully it worked. “Understood,” she said. “Now, if that’s all, perhaps we could eat? I’m feeling a bit peckish,” Hermione continued, standing up, knowing Harry would follow. 

“Is that all?” her mother asked, watching her closely. 

“I believe so, yes,” Hermione answered before summarizing. “There’s a war going on in the magical world, Harry and I are actively involved in the war and permanently involved with each other, and at some point in the future, we will be having children. Quite a bit, a know. I’m sorry to have dumped this all on you at once.” 

“Very well.” Patricia’s lips pressed together before she nodded. “Go on ahead, Hermione. Give your father and I a moment.” 

Hermione gratefully clutched at Harry’s hand and swiftly left the room, closing the door behind them. Even from down the hall, she could hear her father’s angry voice if not the words, at least until Harry threw up a silencing charm at the door. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, rubbing at her arm and shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” she answered weakly, breathy, fighting back tears. “I told you, Harry, I didn’t want to tell them everything all at once. It was too much!” 

“They’re your parents, Hermione. They should know. And if they love you, they’ll support you, no matter what.” 

“They love me,” she defended. “That’s not it. My parents have always been supportive of me and my choices, and this will be no different. That wasn’t why I wanted to stretch out telling them. It’s quite a bit to take, Harry, especially if you didn’t live through it and have to make the decisions as you went. They should have been eased into it all.” 

“I still think it’s better to have just told them everything and let them adjust.” 

Hermione shook her head and sighed. “Forget it. Come on, let’s get dinner on the table. I wasn’t lying. We haven’t eaten anything really substantial since leaving Hogwarts.” 

They went through to the kitchen and with a few flicks of the wands, finished dinner, reheating what had gone cool. They were already seated, plates dished up when Mr. and Mrs. Granger came through. Harry stood immediately, dabbing hastily at his mouth with his napkin. 

“Sit down, Harry,” Patricia told him, heading to the sink to wash her hands, her husband right behind her. “We don’t stand on such ceremony here.” 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, slightly embarrassed as he retook his seat. “I had it drilled into me quite intensely this last summer when my cousin was preparing me to take over my family duties.” 

“Yet, it was mentioned you were the last in your family,” George jumped, finishing drying his hands and joining his family at the table. 

“Yes, I’m the last of the Potters living. My godfather was a Black, and he’s also left me the responsibility of his family. Right now, there are only two viable male heirs, and I’m first.” 

“Draco?” Hermione confirmed, and Harry nodded. 

“He’s the one who bullied you quite fiercely, isn’t he?” her mother asked. “I remember his strange name.” 

Hermione nearly choked and gave her mother an incredulous look. There had been years growing up when she had hated how uncommon her name was. She got over it, obviously, and now she quite liked her name, thank you very much, but still, to call someone else’s name strange…! 

“The Blacks like naming their children after stars and constellations. It’s a family practice, and Draco’s mother was a Black from the cadet line. My grandmother was a Black from the main line, and my godfather was the last Lord Black, which is why my claim to the family is stronger than his. Of course, a lot depends on who survives the war.” 

“Draco’s family is old blood,” Hermione explained. “And his family supports the biased side of the war.” 

“Yes, but his mother was killed this summer, and his father supposedly disinherited him,” Harry continued. “Currently, he’s heir apparent to the Black Family, but we’re still not very friendly. I know he’s disenchanted by the other side, but I don’t know what he plans to do about it. This summer, I think he was just in survival mode.” 

“I feel a bit bad for him,” Hermione confessed before adding, “But he’s still a toe rag.” 

“Sir,” harry spoke up some way into the meal. “It’s common knowledge that Hermione’s family are non-magicals, although, I don’t believe they know yet for sure where your home is located, there are some resourceful Death Eaters who could suss out the information.” 

“Death Eaters?” 

“What the other side of the war calls themselves,” Hermione explain. “Their leader is considered a Dark Lord, because the magic he uses is for negative purposes. He likes to hurt and kill people for fun, and he wants to subjugate the entire population. His loyal followers, those who he’s marked at his own are called Death Eaters, and they’re branded like common criminals.” 

“The thing is, many of them are actually high society lords in the magical world, which is making things so difficult,” Harry continued. “Even though half-bloods and muggle-borns—first generations,” he hastily corrected himself, “make up more of the magical population than high society, they’re still in control of much of our government.” 

“It sounds quite antiquated.” 

“It is,” Hermione confirmed, more than a little exasperate. “It’s like the magical world is stuck in the 1800’s. It can be quite annoying.” 

“You think these death eaters are a danger to us,” Patricia asked. “Specifically to us, because we’re Hermione’s parents.” 

“Yes. If you would allow it, Hermione and I could put up some wards that could provide for some small measure of protection.” 

“Such as?” 

“Yes, what exactly are we talking about here?” George wanted to know, still not pleased at all with much of what he’d learned tonight. He’d been set to like the boy, but learning that he was a high target in a magical war, that his baby girl was also a target, that his baby girl was pregnant—it was a lot to adjust to. 

Harry and Hermione had talked about this before leaving Hogwarts. They’d had every intentions of setting up wards and protection measures for her parents before they left, but they’d both agreed it would be easier to do if her parents were aware of the situation and what was being done to protect them.

“At the very least, we’d like to put up a detection and proximity ward. It will alert you whenever someone magical comes within a certain radius of your house or office. We can tie the ward to a paper or other item, color code it, too.” 

“I’d also like to ward the shed out back,” Hermione told them. “If you’re home, and someone comes by with intentions to hurt you, you and mum can go out to the shed and hide until they leave.”

“Is this really necessary?” 

“I would rather it not be necessary and you have it available then you needing it and not having it,” Hermione told them bluntly. “It’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing.” 

“It’s nothing invasive,” Harry promised. “Really, you shouldn’t even notice a difference in your everyday lives. It will only go off if someone magical, not approved by the wards, comes by, and really, that shouldn’t be happening often if at all. As for the shed, Hermione and I can throw up some extra protection charms on it.”

“I don’t want to do too much, because that, too, could draw extra attention to you. It’ll seem strange if any one house in a non-magical neighborhood is radiating magic.” 

“But we could always go around and add a few more protection wards around the neighborhood,” Harry pointed out. “Spread it out some. Maybe some fire-repelling wards? Anti-pest control charms?” 

“Not too much, though. We have a lot of technology to contend with.” 

“Not to mention the ministry might get a bit peeved at us if they think we’re using magic against non-magicals.” 

“But if it’s helpful magic,” Mrs. Granger protested. 

“It doesn’t matter, mum,” Hermione sighed. “There’s a whole division of the ministry set to not just protect non-magicals from magic, but to keep magic hidden. We could potentially get into a lot of trouble if anyone found out.” 

“So, we just make sure we’re not found out,” Harry claimed. Hermione nodded. 

“If you’ll excuse us, with your permission, I’d like to get started on some of those wards right away,” Hermione stated, standing. 

“Of course. What do you need from us?” 

“Nothing, really. Harry and I will take care of everything. It might take us a while to get it all up, but don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow before you leave for work. Good night,” she added, giving her mum and dad a quick kiss to the cheek. 

“Good night, Hermione. Be careful. We love you,” her mum told her, earning another smile from the young woman before she left. 

Harry nodded at them both before following Hermione out of the kitchen and to the front hall cloak closet. “Here,” she said, handing him a thick jacket and some snow boots. “We’ll walk around the outside first. I grew up here, but you’ve never been, so I want you to get a feel for the property.” 

He dutifully put on the garments and followed her outside. It was a nice house, he thought again. Decent looking neighborhood, clean, well kept. Wasn’t as cold feeling as Privet Drive, either. Detached garages housed cars. A few of the lawns were decked out with decorations. Candles flickered in many of the downstairs windows. Wreaths hung from doors. One of the houses, a few door down, had a mock-up fence made from gigantic candy canes. 

There was a little pathway that led between the house and the garage to the back yard. A nice patio area provided a space he thought would be perfect for summer morning coffee or barbeque dinners. He could easily see Hermione curled up on the lounger with a book during her summer holidays. There was a patch of grass to one side with a few beds of flowers and a bird bath. Behind the garage was the shed Hermione had mentioned. It was cozy and comfortable, not pretentious or snobby—the same impression Harry had gotten from both Grangers. 

“Do you want me to start on the proximity ward and you can start on the shed?” Harry offered, already sending his out, casting about them, seeping into their surroundings. 

“Yes, if you would, thank you, Harry,” Hermione responded, somewhat distractedly as she had already turned her focus towards the shed that would provide her parents with some measure of protection if the death eaters did come after them here at their house. She had spent a good portion of her free time over the years researching protection charms and spells. This was the first summer home where she could actually try some of them out—and she had. A fire protection ward was surrounding the house proper, with extra booster charms cast in several rooms—the kitchen, the library/study, her parents’ bedroom, and her own bedroom. That had taken quite a bit out of her, having never really tried her hand at casting wards before. Then she had tried some of the other typical household wards--the anti-pest ward should detract rodents or insects from the house proper, and an anti-theft ward was supposed to make her house less desirable to would-be crooks. Neither of those, though, would work on Death Eaters, no matter how poorly she thought of them. The trick of it was to give the house protection without creating a magical beacon announcing to anyone sensitive that this house was protected by magic. 

Harry’s original plan to cast several wards around the neighborhood was good, except for, as Neville had pointed out, the possibility of being caught and fined by the Ministry. Harry had argued that the magic was protective and harmful to no one, so he should be allowed to do with what he liked with his own magic. Unfortunately, they all knew that was too logical and sensical for their Ministry. The more she learned about the wizarding world and its politics and policies, the more she was disgusted by it. It was all very disillusioning. 

Focusing on the shed before her once again, Hermione brought up her mental lists of spells and charms she had decided she wanted to cast on the metal. First was a notice-me-not spell cued to anyone not of her blood. She used a potions knife she’d brought home with her expressly for this purpose. It had been cleaned and sanitized, and it was wicked sharp. With barely any pressure at all, she’d nicked her finger and added her blood into the spell casting. The ministry would accuse her of practicing dark magic if they knew—the idiots.

Then she threw up another fire protection ward—she was getting much better at those. Next were climate and weather charms—those would help keep the shed comfortable and dry no matter what the season. With that done, she turned back to Harry to find him glowing. 

Harry’s magic continued to cast out, encasing the house and then its neighbors. It traveled down the streets and through the parks, tasting and sensing it all before rushing back towards him. With a mental sense of the neighborhood, he then began manipulating his magic to do want he wanted. He started building ward rings, the closest one surrounding the house proper, all doors and windows. The next stepped ten feet away; the next twenty; so on and so forth, he continued until the final ring went up to nearly the length of a the quidditch pitch, which should give the Grangers enough time to get to the shed, he hoped. 

With the markers for the ward rings in place, he began the tedious task of incorporating the purpose and function of the wards. They had decided to use only some simple detecting wards—first to identify if someone magical came within radius of the house, second to divine the intention of the magical user. The first functioned similar to an anti-muggle charm. It detected a magical core and would ping on a signifying device, which, for the moment, they were using one of Hermione’s dad’s business cards. It would vibrate when a witch or wizard crossed the ward, and the closer to the house they got, the quicker it would vibrate. 

Although a bit tricky to cast and connect, it was still easier than the second. Neither was something they’d had to create, thank goodness, but they’d had to do plenty of tweaking to get them to work. After all, most wards were cast on magical dwellings, which usually had access to a ward or key stone. Hermione’s parents’ house had neither, which means that the spells would eventually fade, sooner than they would in a true magical home, but they should hopefully serve their purpose for the next several years. Long enough to keep the Grangers safe. 

He weaved his magic back through each ward ring, threading in the charm to detect a person’s intent and tying it to the magical detection charm. They fought him, but he was able to wrestling them into place and then tie them both back to the business card he was holding. He’d tweaked the spell results, just a little. In addition to vibrating, the card would change colors depending on the intruding magical’s intention. The more negative the encroacher’s intention, the dark the card would become. Or at least, he hoped that’s what would happen. Unfortunately, there was no way to really test it out. 

With an exhausted breath, Harry opened his eyes and refocused on the world around him. 

“Harry?” Hermione called gently, seeing his eyes open. “Are you finished?” 

“Yes,” he answered, feeling extremely tired and idly debating whether he would bother to take a shower tonight before bed or just crash into his bed and deal with showering in the morning. “You?” 

“I finished nearly an hour ago,’ Hermione admitted. “Did you have any troubles?” 

“No, not really. Are you cold? You should have gone in instead of staying out here.” 

“I’m fine. I used warming charms on the both of us. Would you like to go in and maybe have some biscuits and cocoa?” 

“Hermione Granger, offering sweets?” he teased. 

“I don’t much care for them, but my dad really likes his digestives, and mum has a bit of a sweet tooth, too.” 

“Really? I’d always thought that the reason you didn’t like sweets was because of them.” 

“No, I just don’t care for many sweet things. I honestly prefer my sweets to come from fruits, sometimes some sweet breads,” she explained as she led the way in to the kitchen. “Harry, have you set wards before?” 

“You know I haven’t, that’s why we planned so much for this trip. I wanted to make sure I got it right,” he reminded her before collapsing into a chair at the table. He really was tired. 

“You were glowing,” Hermione said softly, not looking at him as she collected some biscuits from one cupboard and mugs and cocoa mix from another. 

“Come again?” 

“Your body, you were physically illuminating this glowing light,” Hermione explained, pulling down a little plate and setting it and the cookies before Harry. “It encased you and didn’t leave until right before you opened your eyes.” 

“Um, okay, well that’s strange,” he admitted, picking out a cookie and biting into it. He wasn’t a very big fan of digestives himself, but he wasn’t about to it turn down. 

“Yes, just a bit,” Hermione agreed. “I’ve never heard of this happening before.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever glowed with magic before. At least not knowingly,” he mused, taking another biscuit. “Have you got any suggestions, then?” 

“No,” admitted Hermione, setting about making them cocoa. “I wish I could talk to Hannah and Luna, see what they have to say.” 

“Neville and Blaise might have some ideas, too,” he reminded her. He wished they were with the others, too. He really didn’t like not knowing where his mates were and that they were all okay. Realistically, he knew they were all with family, and that they should be well… Neville and Blaise, at least, were at their family manors, which should be protected by several wards, similar and better than the ones he had just finished putting up around the Grangers. 

“Yes,” Hermione sighed. “How do you think the others are getting on?” 

“Hopefully, well,” he answered, fighting off a growl. “I don’t like being so far apart from everyone.” 

“Neville was going to check in on Luna and help her make sure her house is properly warded,” Hermione reminded him. “And Hannah’s staying with another friend, behind family wards. They’ll be safe.” 

“If he judges them not good enough, he might just take her back to the manor with him,” Harry informed her. They had discussed it before everyone had left, and Harry had exacted the promise from Neville. 

“She was really looking forward to spending the holiday with her dad.” 

“I don’t know,” Harry hedge. “I think there’s more there than any of us are aware of.” 

“I’ll be glad once we’re able to get permission for her to sit her Newts with us this year. Then we don’t have to wait another year for her to join us,” Hermione mused. Luna had mentioned it in passing, almost wistfully. Neville was the one who’d informed them it was possible, and Hannah was working with her contacts to try and pull some strings. Although, it was more than likely, Neville would be more successful if he could convince his grandmother to advocate for the Ravenclaw girl. 

“What are you thinking about so intensely,” Hermione asked after several minutes had passed and the cocoa was ready. She settled the two mugs and herself at the table and looked at him expectantly.

“It’s a picture,” he confessed. “It a picture of a man and a woman out on little lake. It’s a pretty day, nice weather, and they’re just drifting in the water. Then the water turns bad, and he’s struggling to hold to the oars of their little boat, and… I don’t know what happens next.” 

Hermione frowned, sipping at her cocoa, urging him to take his mug as well. “That’s a rather strange thought.” 

“I know. I don’t think it’s from any movie or telly, and I’ve never been in a real row boat. Well, once, twice if you count our first year and crossing the lake,” he amended. “I don’t know where it came from.” 

“I think maybe you’re just tired.” 

Harry nodded. “Should probably go to bed. I’m feeling pretty beat up.” 

“You did a lot of magic out there,” Hermione reminded him, reaching over and clasping his hand. “Harry, thank you.” 

He brought her hand back to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Of course. Of course, if you really wanted to thank me, you’d let me sleep with you tonight.” 

“You heard my mother,” Hermione huffed, pulling her hand free. “No hanky-panky under her roof.” 

“I can sleep with someone and not have sex with them,” Harry huffed in return. Hermione just shot him a disbelieving look. “Really! I can!” 

“Well, then, it’s a good thing my mother only said you couldn’t sleep in my room, isn’t it,” she said, getting up and collecting their mugs and dish. “She didn’t say anything about me not sleeping in your room.” 

Harry grinned and coughed out a little laugh. “Ms. Granger, have I told you how much I love you?” 

“Mm, not today, no, I don’t think.” 

“How remiss of me,” Harry chastised, standing up and stepping into her. “I love you. You are brilliant and amazing,” he added, trailing several kisses along her cheeks before dropping a last kiss against her lips. “And if I wasn’t utterly knackered and in your parents’ home, I’d probably be tempted to show you just how much.” 

“Well, then, it’s probably a good thing you’re so tired, then,” she quipped, tugging him along. “Come on, let’s get to bed and get some sleep.” 

**** 

They’d been asleep for an undetermined amount of time, Harry wrapped around Hermione like a living blanket as they snuggled and slept in the guest bedroom, when a strange sound roused them. 

“Waizit,” Hermione mumbled, shifting sleepily against Harry. 

“Mmndt,” Harry responded, reluctant to actually wake up. 

Unfortunately, or fortunately, the strange sound became more insistent, succeeding in waking them up fully. 

“What is that?” Hermione repeated, after yawning. 

“I don’t—“ Harry began before sitting straight up in the bed and looking over at the night stand where the card he’d charmed and planned to give to the Grangers in the morning was. 

It was vibrating quickly. 

And it was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who's been keeping on with this story. I know it's dragging between updates. Unfortunately, these were the last scenes I had prewritten that were not either DE-torture scenes or lost. And spring break is over, so extra hours to sit and ponder are lost. Translation: no this story is not abandoned; it's just an incredibly long period between updates.


	27. Homesick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pard goes their separate ways for Winter Break. Explicit scenes. No Harry/Hermione in this chapter.

27 – Homesick – 

~THEN~ 

Even bouncing back and forth through the mateship, a day hadn’t gone by where Harry and Blaise hadn’t gotten up to something or another—often multiple times. Not that she had heard any of the others complain, despite it being term end and there being final exams to study for. Hermione would need more fingers and toes to count the number of times she’d walked in on one or another of the pard canoodling around instead of studying for their exams. And now they were heading home. They all wrestled with the fact they would be away from each other for nearly three solid weeks. They wouldn’t return to Hogwarts until the second. It seemed so far away now, it was certainly going to be an adjustment, that was for sure, but Hermione knew the time would fly.

 

~NOW~  
\- Wednesday, December 10, Kings Cross Station- 

She stepped clear of the train and smiled gratefully to Neville who had brought both hers and Hannah’s bags. Hannah hugged first her and then Neville, before taking her bag. 

“Be safe,” she entreated them both. “And I’ll see you soon, okay? I’ll floo you soon with my address, promise,” she said before rushing forward to give first Neville and then her another hug. 

“Go,” Neville told her with a sad little smile. “We’ll be fine. Enjoy your holiday with Susan.” 

Said Hufflepuff girl was standing a few feet away, smiling indulgently at her best friend. “Thank you, Neville. I hope you have a lovely holiday, and don’t worry about this one. I’ll keep an eye on her.” 

Neville nodded his thanks and then turned back to Luna. She didn’t know what he would have said for she had silently cast disillusion on herself and stepped away, out of the path of traffic, where she could stand and watch everyone else while she waited. Neville looked this way and that before puffing out a sigh and picking up his own bag once more. She watched him head over to the apparition point where his grandmother was waiting for him. Their greeting wasn’t even a quarter as warm or friendly as Hannah’s goodbye. With a nod and a few words, both then turned on the spot and disapperated away. 

Luna watched as both Hannah and Susan Bones were whisked away via portkey to an as-of-yet undisclosed location. Susan had promised that Hannah could tell Neville where she was once they were both safely ensconced behind the wards of their holiday location. No one could quite blame the young Lady Bones for her precautions after the violent attack on her family manor that had resulted in the death of her last living family member, her aunt who had raised her. 

A body sidled up next to her spot along the wall. 

“I find myself somewhat loathed to leave,” Blaise mused, leaning slightly into her. She leaned back into him. 

“It is only one holiday,” Luna hummed. “It is good to go back to our homes and renew our connection with our childhood one last time before we leave. And we’ll see each other soon.” 

“One last time?” Blaise queried. “You don’t think you’ll go back after this?” 

“Childhood is over. Harry and Hermione will have found us our new home before we return to school. Even Neville is looking forward to a new home that is his, ours. You will have to explain to your mother.” 

“She doesn’t really care,” Blaise scoffed. 

“You are her only child.” 

“Through nature, not nurture.” 

Luna frowned. “What is wrong?” 

“We will be parted from one another for nearly three weeks and you ask me what is wrong?” he asked incredulously. 

“You have only been with us for a short time,” Luna reminded him. 

“That doesn’t make me any less attached to any of you.” 

“No, but it’s more than that. You don’t want to go home.” 

“My mother is coming up on a heat period,” he finally confessed. “Now that I am of age, I will most likely be expected to… attend. Especially as I am the only surviving child of my father’s.” 

“How often are her heat periods, if you don’t mind my asking?” 

“Once every ten to twelve years,” Blaise sighed. 

“And yet, you are her only child? I did not think your mother so young.” 

“She’s not. Middle-aged, really, but let her know I said so.” 

“Will you also have heats, then? Similar to Neville?” 

“Supposedly, though everyone has a different cycle according to my mother. It’s why there’s not a lot written about our reproductive cycles—everyone’s a little bit different so it’s difficult to find much commonality.” 

“That’s Harry and Hermione through the gate,” the blonde sighed, watching the head couple leave the platform. Beside her, Blaise seemed to slump that little bit more. “Cheer up,” she told the Slytherin. “It’s not that long of a break. We’ll see everyone again soon.” 

“Not soon enough. Is your father not here to pick you up?” 

“Is your mother not here?” 

“I’m flooing through to several family homes before joining with my mother.” 

Luna nodded. “I will be flooing home in a moment.” 

“Why not leave directly?” 

She smiled and turned to him on the empty platform. “Like you, I wanted to see everyone else safely off. Now it is time for us to go, too.” 

“Luna…” 

She leaned up to him even as he leaned down into her. They met in a clash of lips and tongue. He pushed her back, turning her towards the wall. She used the support to brace herself, hooking her legs around his as he helped hitch her up. 

“Once more before we go?” 

“You’re on.” 

It took a little fumbling, pushing cloth out of the way and lining up for a smooth stroke of penetration, but within minutes they were moving against each other, clinging to one another, as Blaise grunted and Luna let loose little cries that spurred him on. 

“You know what I need.” 

“Almost there,” she puffed against his ear, clinging to him. “So close, Blaise. So close.” 

With a small growl, Blaise turned and sunk his teeth in against her throat. Not enough to break skin, but just enough to leave a small bruise. Luna came undone, and he fed. 

Slowly, their breathing became less ragged. Luna’s legs—and her woolen dress—slid back down although Blaise made no move to step back and refasten his pants. Not until a few minutes later when the conductor and the trolley lady came their way. 

“Oiy, you two. What are you two still doing here?” the elder man barked. 

“Best be heading home, dears,” the trolley lady told them. “Your families are most likely worried sick wondering where you are. Especially in these times. Off you go, dears. Be safe, and have a good holiday!” 

She shooed them along all the way towards the public fireplace. Blaise and Luna shared one last look before first Luna and then Blaise tossed their powder into the fire, called out their destination, and whirled away. 

****&&****

Luna stepped out into the main space of the Rookery. Her family had lived on this plot of land for generations. Now, she was the last, and she would be leaving. She knew this would be the last time she visited her birth home, the home where she grew up as a child. Part of her was sad to be saying goodbye. Another part of her, however, was happy to be leaving. 

This home held happiness, yes, but it also held sadness. Mostly surrounding her mother’s death and her father’s decline. 

Biting her lip, she trailed through the main room, noting the dust and general lack of up-keep. Up the rickety stairs in need of bolstering charms. Into the room that was hers. She stared at the room around her—the bed, the walls, her art. Then she turned around and went back downstairs, not even bothering to drop off her bag in her room. 

Her father wasn’t on the main floor, nor was he in the print shop. With a weary sigh, she left the house and wandered out into the wilderness of their gardens and land. There was a stream that trickled by the corner of the garden, but beyond was often marsh as opposed to solid, dry land. The garden itself was overrun and unattended. A chaotic mess. 

Her mother had often smiled and laughed as she tended the garden. Luna could still hear her light laughter floating on the breeze in the spring and summertime. Often times, the memory was drowned out by the sound of the explosion that had demolished the side shed, her mother’s workshop. The ruined wrecked was still there, like a scar that refused to heal away. Her father had refused to remove the broken bones of her mother’s workshop, always saying he would need to fix it back up so Luna could use it. 

Luna had no intention of ever using it. 

She left the garden behind and stepped instead into the copse of trees that led into a small woods proper. There was a small path that led to a bench. Despite the chill in the air, that was where she found her father, sitting out amongst the trees, talking to himself. 

“You’re right, of course you’re right, my treasure box. I should wait until at least May to plant the kabucha and melon. I was thinking of traveling to Shqipërisë next. Or maybe Estland. What do you think? Then again, perhaps someplace further away would be a better idea. No, not indefinitely. I wouldn’t keep our moonbeam away from her homeland. I know better than that, but…” 

“Daddy,” Luna calls gently. “Won’t you come inside?”

“Just for a little while, perhaps. A small extended vacation. Just until things settle down a little.” 

“Daddy, I’m home from Hogwarts. Would you like to share a cup of tea with me?” 

“I know she’s supposedly safe at Hogwarts, but I can’t help thinking we’d all be safer still further away. Maybe India or China?”

Luna spied the tipped goblet at her father’s feet and sighed heavily. If he had taken what she highly suspected he had, she knew he would be out of touch with reality for a while. Why he would have taken Gift of the Fae on the same day she was coming home, though, she didn’t understand. She knew her father had a weakness for the illicit potion, which supposedly granted the victim certain fairy gifts. And the injestor was a victim. The potion was highly corruptive and addicting. Taken too often, too many times, in too high a dose… it could render permanent madness, especially to one who did not have a hint of fairy blood in them. 

Luna had never needed the potion. She was already quite mad—out of step with reality some may say. Sometimes the visions she saw or the voices she heard taunted and haunted her. Although, as her maturity approached, she’d noticed a steadier control over her powers, for which she was grateful. 

Leaving her father to his visions, Luna returned to the house and looked around. Slipping her wand free from her hair knot, she quickly began swishing and flicking it about the place, clearing the counters and cabinets of dust and webs, slacking a layer of polish across the woods, flinging the carpets and rugs out to the lawn to flap free of dirt and dust. In the kitchen, the dishes piled in the sink began washing and drying themselves before floating back to their proper place in the cupboards. A broom and mop began waltzing across the floors, an oil rag swooping along behind them. Another spell shot off towards the staircase, tightening screws and reinforcing support beams. More still saw a watering can pay a visit to many of the dying potted plants, dry and starved. Idly, she wondered if she should ask Neville to rescue the poor things. 

As if hearing her thoughts of him, the floo flared with an incoming call, and there was Neville’s head, hovering in the fire. “Hello, Luna! You disappeared before I could properly say goodbye. You mind if I come on through?” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m just doing a spot of cleaning.” She cleared the space for him to walk through unhindered by the automated cleaning happening. “Hello, Neville.” 

“Luna,” he greeted with a wry little smile, opening his arms invitingly. She readily stepped into his embrace, allowing the warmth that was their pard bond settle back over her. She hadn’t even realized she’d been chilled. He gave her a brief little squeeze before looking around, frowning slightly. “Where’s your father? I thought he was supposed to be here.”

“He’s outside, communing. He does that sometimes. I’m surprised to see you so soon. I thought you might like to spend more time with your grandmother.” 

Neville flushed somewhat guilty and embarrassed. “No, not really. After seeing me safely home, Gram took off to one of her social meetings. Not sure why they scheduled something the same day the train got back in, but there you have it. Besides, I promised Harry that I would stop by and check on your wards here. He was concerned you wouldn’t be safe enough by yourself.” 

“I’ve lived my whole life on these lands,” Luna mused. “Never been in much danger before.” 

He dropped a kiss against her temple. “Things are different now. We belong to Harry now, and he considers our safety of high importance.” 

“Luna smiled gently. “Of course he does. Come, have a cup of tea with me, then you can look your fill of our properties wards and reassure Harry that I am safe.” 

Neville returned her smile and followed her to a seating area. “I’m not sure this is what I envisioned your home to be like or not,” he mused as she started the tea. 

“What did you expect?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe a cottage in the woods?” 

“We had one of those once. It’s long since crumbled and returned to the forest. One of my foremothers had this rookery built, nearly three hundred years ago. It was bigger at one point, but other parts were removed or discontinued. Now, there is only this one small tower left. The lands were much more, once upon a time, but even that has been part and parceled, sold off to other hands. We’ve kept possession of the woods, though.” 

She smiled sadly at him. He smiled back. “I’d like to see, if you’d be willing to show me them.” 

“Of course. But first, I was wondering if you might help these poor fellows,” she asked, directing him towards the neglected plants in various pots. 

“It would be my pleasure,” he returned, happily going from pot to pot, working his special brand of magic to coax each specimen back to health and vitality while Luna fixed their tea. “You know you are more than welcomed to come back with me to Longbottom manor for the holidays.” 

“I know. Thank you... But if this it to be the last holiday with my father, I think I should try and appreciate it, don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Neville sighed disappointedly. “I just hate the idea of you alone out here, by yourself so much.” 

“Being away from Harry is already starting to affect you, isn’t it?” 

“Like it’s not you?” Neville practically snapped. Luna raised an eyebrow and looked at him. He flushed. “Sorry.” 

“I understand. Have you heard from Hannah yet?” 

“No,” he practically moped, returning from his last patient with sagging shoulders. He took the cup she offered him and sipped gently. “I left an elf in charge, waiting for her call, just in case.”

“I’m sure she will contact you soon,” Luna tried to reassure him, but she also felt a fissure of concern as she stared down at the dredges of her own cup. After he finished his own cup, she led him down the stone steps and out onto the lands. Neville looked around him, taking in the drawings on the stone walls and the different plants and trees that filled the dormant garden. He followed her out into the fields proper, looking back at the stone building that looked much like a parapet sliced off of a castle and randomly deposited out in the middle of a field. He could see the smattering of a woods to the other side, and a part of him yearned to go there and visit with those trees. He knew better how to manage those impulses now, though, and so resisted the urge. 

“Here’s our family’s ward stone,” Luna suddenly announced, drawing his attention aware from the land and back to her. “As you can see, it’s in working condition. Would you like to test the wards?” 

“Luna,” he entreated, trying to erase some of the bitterness he sensed in her voice. “You should come back with me. Stay with me for the holiday. You can meet my gran and together we can work on getting her to talk to the right people to get permission for you to take your NEWTS early, with us. Plus, I would like her to get to know the people in my family, our pard. Neither one of us needs to be alone.” 

“You could stay here,” Luna returned. 

Neville studied her face. “If that’s what you’d prefer.” 

She looked startled. “You would do that?” 

“Stay here as opposed to Longbottom Manor? If it meant being with you and neither of us being alone? Yes.” 

She studied him a moment longer, and then seeming to make up her mind, she began to undress. 

“Wai-what are you doing?” Neville asked, staring somewhat stupidly as Luna stripped naked in the middle of the field, laying her dress and stockings to the side, over her boots. 

“If I’m to be leaving, I would like to add my magick to the wards one last time,” Luna said matter-of-factly as she hopped up onto the block of stone. “You will assist me, won’t you?” 

“What do you need me to do?”

“Strip,” she answered. “And then come here. Join with me.” 

“You’re talking about using sex magic,” Neville caught on. “To fuel the wards?” 

“Yes. Mummy and Daddy used to, before Mummy died. And now you can help me do the same.” 

“Okay, but I don’t actually know the right words, do you?” 

“Of course. I’ve read my family grimoire multiple times, haven’t you?” 

Neville finished divesting himself of his casual robes and winter cloak, and shivering slightly, stepped up to the ward stone. “Gram wouldn’t allow me before, and I actually didn’t even think to ask this past summer. I guess she couldn’t deny me now, could she.” 

“She could try, but I doubt the family magick would allow it. If you’d like, this evening we could look through your family’s grimoire and see if the ritual is the same. If it is, we could do it again, over your family’s ward stone,” she offered. 

Neville grinned and leaned into her. “You just want more sex.” 

“It’s true, I do enjoy sex with you and the others, but it was a sincere offer. After all, we would be having sex with or without the ritual, wouldn’t we?” 

“Most definitely,” Neville agreed, leaning into her, pressing his mouth over hers even as he pressed his warm and ready cock against her soft belly. “Say the words, Luna. Say them quick ‘cause I want inside you now.” 

“Semen magicae tueri familiae terrae,” Luna whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist and drawing him to her. 

Neville thrust forward, filling her readily. “‘Protect your family lands,’” he rumbled, pulling back only to thrust again, “‘with sex magic.’ That’s it?” 

“Well, we both have to cum,” Luna gasped, feeling her back scrap against the stone beneath her with every thrust. “Shouldn’t be too hard to accomplish.” 

“Gods, no,” Neville agreed, nuzzling down her neck and chest, contorting himself so he could suckle at one dark, rosy nipple. She reached up and wrapped an arm around his head, holding him close as he continued to chase his orgasm. Teeth grazed along her skin, shooting miniature bolts of lightning down her nerve endings. Their magics were already colliding, swirling up around their bodies and being slurped up greedily by the stone they were coupling against, feeding the house magic that had been starved of this mostly affectionate type of replenishing for nearly a decade. 

One copulation would not be enough to fully replenish the ward stone, Luna fundamentally knew, but it didn’t matter. It would be enough to protect her father for the time being. Maybe even enough to outlast this cursed war if it didn’t drag out for too long. It would give him some time to decide what it was he would do next—whether that be to travel to Albania or Estonia or some other country like he had mentioned or something else. All this she knew without having to think about. 

Which left her free to think about the feel of Neville’s body, pressing against hers. His mouth drawing her small breast tight, teeth sinking into the nipple with each draw. His belly muscles constricting and rippling with every stroke and flex of his hips, sliding his thick cock in and out in the same dance she and Blaise had played at not even a full hour gone past. She threw her head back, cracking her skull painfully against the stone and cried out. The thought of Neville sliding through Blaise’s cum, readying to release his own flow was what helped push her over the edge, legs squeezing Neville’s hips as she rode out her own orgasm. 

Neville wasn’t far behind, pulling back to quickly chase after his own completion. Even he felt the magic swirl around them through his lust haze. Swirl and then snap, and he came suddenly, flooding Luna’s passage with his own seed. He stumbled back, watching fascinated as the last heroic efforts of his penis spilled out onto the stone and seemed to disappear, soaked into the stone. He watched, staring transfixed as Luna did…something. Whatever it was, it caused his seed to slowly dribble out of her channel and slip slop down onto the stone, where it too was absorbed. She sat up, straddling the stone, and stretched languidly. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of having sex,” she mused, looking up at him with a dreamy, contented little smile. 

“No? I suppose that’s lucky for me, then,” he grinned reaching over to help her up off the stone. “Is that it, then? Are we done here?” 

“For now, yes.” 

Neville nodded. “Would you like to wait for your father before leaving or head over to Longbottom Manor now?” 

“Daddy’s here.” 

“What? Where?” Neville whirled around, expected the Lovegood father to be standing there behind him. Luna giggled. 

“He’s off in the trees. I’ll go say goodbye and then leave him a note. Then we can go. Do you think I could use a washroom when we arrive?” 

“I’ll make sure your rooms are prepared and ready for you before we arrive,” Neville promised. “Do you, ah, want me to wait inside while you speak to your father? Or, well, maybe I should speak to him? Although, I suppose it’s really Harry’s right to— “ 

“Shh,” Luna pressed a finger to Neville’s lips to silence the random ramblings that had begun to spill forth. “Wait inside. I’ll only be a moment,” she told him, shooing him off up the stone steps and back inside the Rookery. Then she traced her steps back to the woods where she’d last seen her father. He was still on the bench, lounging now, twirling a dead leaf between his fingers, still talking rambled that made little sense, even to her. 

“Daddy,” she called. “It’s me, Luna. I wanted to let you know that I’ll be going over to a friend’s house for the rest of the holiday. His name is Neville Longbottom. We’ve helped bolster the family ward stone, so the wards should be a little stronger. I’ve also done a spot of cleaning around the house, so don’t be surprised, okay? Please remember to eat something while I’m gone. I’ll leave a message for you, so you can read and remember where I’m at. I don’t want you to worry, but I know you won’t remember much when you come off the fae’s Blessing. Remember not to take too much of it. It’s really a curse. Goodbye, Daddy. Take care. I love you.” 

“Love you, too, moonbeam,” Luna thought she distinctly heard amounts all the other mumbling. She sighed and turned back towards the Rookery. 

She came. She saw. She had said her goodbyes. Now it was time to leave again, she thought. Good thing she hadn’t even unpacked. Neville was waiting for her inside, hand extended out towards her. She took it with a smile and allowed him to usher her through the floo to his childhood home. 

 

***&&&***

Blaise put off the final trip to his mother’s until he could no longer do so. He had paid proper short visits to his various aunts and uncles, staying for a cup of tea or a glass of wine and some idle gossip at each home until finally his uncle Enzo gave him the knowing eye, and he had made his exit. 

Although his paternal grandparents were both muggles, three of his father’s six siblings had been magical. The family had been mostly close, and even after his father’s murder, Blaise had always felt welcomed by his father’s family. No matter what they may have thought about his mother and her multitude of remarriages, there was no doubting she had loved Alejandro Zabini. 

He said his final goodbyes and took the floo to Villa de la Mare, the home he had grown up in as a child, located in the city of Portofino along the Italian Riviera. It was by no means the largest or fanciest house in his mother’s portfolio, but it was the one Blaise felt the most at home in. Located right on the water, nestled into a potent of cliff and sea, the steps of the back patio led right into the warm Mediterranean waters. Blaise stepped out of the floo and immediately stretched his senses, looking for his mother. 

The villa was empty. With a quiet pop, an elf appeared before him, offering up a silver tray and a letter. “Master Blaise, it’s so good to see you home, master, and looking well. Mistress Marianna has charged Tullis with giving Master Blaise this letter from his mother. Is there anything Tullis can be doing for Master Blaise?” 

“No, Tullis, thank you. I’ll see to my own belongs in just a moment. Has my mother been staying here recently?” 

“No, Master Blaise. mistress has been away for the last two weeks. We are unsure of when she will return.” 

“I see. Thank you,” Blaise murmured, dismissing the elf and looking to the letter he now held. He could smell his mother’s perfume on the parchment. He had been somewhat hoping that his mother would be home…and then somewhat hoping she would not. He wasn’t sure how to feel now. On the one hand, he wanted to tell her about his unique opportunity to bond with a vanteerian and his circle… pard, he reminded himself with smile. On the other… well, Harry’s pard was still a very new occurrence, and although he felt he was mostly well-liked and accepted by all the current members, he couldn’t help but be a little frightful that he would still be told to leave, that he was too dangerous for them to take on. He snorted a laugh and shook his head ruefully. A nymph, a fae, and a vanteerian. A living, breathing vanteerian… He could grow fat—if that was even possible—feasting on their sexual energies alone without ever touching one of them. There was no way he would willingly give them up without a fight. 

With another sigh, he broke open the seal to the letter his mother had left him, already suspecting what it would say. He skimmed the letter for certain key words—yes. His mother had found a new interest with… undesirable ties and panaches. They were already engaged to be married. He was, of course, more than welcomed to join them at some estate in Greece for the holiday. She would like to see him, but knew, as he had come into his inheritance, he was often uncomfortable around his mother’s would-be-victims, especially after the last one had made advances to have Blaise join them in their marital bed. He had been a muggle and hadn’t survived the encounter, much to his mother’s slight amusement. After all, she had been planning to make the man last just a little bit longer, but Blaise was young and new to his powers. The man hadn’t stood a chance. Which was fine as the man was a pedophile and a human trafficker, but Blaise had found the encounter less than satisfying. His mother had understood and promised not to expose him to any such opportunities knowingly in the future. 

So it was his choice. He could join his mother and her newest conquest in Greece for the winter holiday or he could stay in the villa alone, perhaps visiting with his aunts and uncles and grandparents. Or…

He didn’t have to spend the holiday alone. He knew of at least one place—possibly two—he could visit, perhaps stay for the entirety of the holiday. He didn’t have to be alone… Purposefully, he stepped back towards the floo and gathered up some powder, and then paused. No, he couldn’t just try to floo over to Longbottom. More than likely their floo connection was blocked, especially from such long distance as those from the continent. However, he could floo his way to his Cousins’ in Northern France and then take a public floo back to Kings Cross. From there he should be able to get to Longbottom. 

Decision and plan made, mind going a mile a minute to try and counter any disruptions to his plan, Blaise tossed the powder into the fire and stepped through. If all went well, he could be at the Longbottom manor before the hour was out. If that failed or for some reason he couldn’t stay with Longbottom, he would reach out to Luna and encourage her to return Italy with him. Or, maybe he could encourage both her and Longbottom to return with him. That would be a nice little holiday. The only thing better would be if Harry and Hermione and Hannah could join them, too. 

**&&&&**

Neville sat comfortably in the armchair before a crackling fire, reading through a back issue of a herbology journal when an elf came to inform him someone was in the entry chamber. Surprised, having felt the wards twinge but believing them to be his grandmother returning from her social, Neville got up and briskly crossed to the entry chamber where the floo connectioni waited. 

Blaise!” he called, surprised at seeing the other man there. “I thought you were in Italy with your mother.” 

He walked up and easily embraced the other, smacking a kiss to his cheek. 

“I was, in Italy, that is,” the dark-skinned man responded. “But unfortunately, my mother will not be available this season. I was hoping, if your earlier offer was still open…?” 

“Of course, you are more than welcome to stay here. I welcome you to Longbottom Manor, Blaise Zabini. Come in and find peace and succor.” Neville formally greeted and welcomed his guest, stepping back and motioning him through into the house proper. “Luna’s here, too. I stopped by her place earlier and, well, let’s just say I wasn’t willing to take no for an answer.” 

Blaise smiled back at him “She was to be my next stop if you had turned me away,” he confessed. 

“Never,” Neville growled, turning the incubus back to face him fully. A hand slid around Blaise’s neck, callouses scraping and teasing before Neville’s grip firmed and squeezed, chasing a tiny gasp from Blaise’s lips. “Nervier will I turn you away,” Neville practically growled before jerking the lithe man against him and crushing their mouths together. 

Blaise responded eagerly, pressing up against Neville’s thicker body, tilting his head to get better access. 

“Gods, so good.” 

“Yes, you are. I could take you right here,” Neville growled, squeezing Blaise’s ass in a punishing grip that had the other man moaning and thrusting against him. 

“Yes,” Blaise hissed. “Do it. Take me, fill me up, Longbottom.” 

Neville nipped sharply at his jaw. “You know, you call everyone else by their first name’s now except me. Why is that I wonder?” 

“Because, every time I say your name, I’m imagining you bottoming out inside me,” Blaise panted, “With long, deep strokes, filling me up, stuffing your thick cock inside me, forcing me open around your dick, and then filling me up with your cum.” 

“Gods, I love the way you think,” Neville moaned, pushing Blaise down onto the carpet before the fire. “Love the way all those filthy images spill off your tongue,” he murmured following Blaise down and covering him with his own body. “Can’t decide if I want you face down with your pretty ass in the air for me, or if I want you just like this, flat on your back with your legs spared wide and your mouth in easy reach,” Neville gasped, thrusting against the writhing body beneath him. 

“Need clothes off first,” Blaise gasped. “Wand…” 

Neville leaned back enough, give him just enough wiggle room to release his wand and flick the wood over both of them, neatly divesting them both of their every stitch of clothing. Another flick at the door saw locking and silencing charms go up. 

“Good thinking,” Neville approved before squashing the body beneath him once more. Hands gripped thighs, fingers digging in forcibly as he maneuvered Blaise into a spread-eagle position and frotting against him insistently. “Tell me,” Neville demanded. “Tell me how badly you want to feel my cock inside you again.” 

“Oh, gods, yes,” Blaise whined. “Your cock is so thick and full. Wanna feel you forcing your way into my body, Longbottom. Make me stretch for you, make me open up around your dick, Longbottom, come on. Force me to take every single inch of your cock.” 

Neville growled, wrenching one of Blaise’s legs up higher, up over his shoulder, splitting him open even as he grasped for his dick and ran the tip along Blaise’s balls and down towards his opening before trailing it back up again, repeating the pattern. He knew, if he looked, he’d see Blaise’s greedy opening winking, kissing the air, begging to be filled even as the slick the incubus naturally produced began to flow and drool, sliding down the crease of his ass. He pressed his cockhead to the other boy’s opening, felt the ring of muscles constrict and contract, as if trying to suck him inside the incubus’s body. 

“Damn it, Neville! Please, fuck me already!” Blaise shouted, throwing his head back and writhing against the other man’s larger body. 

‘With my seed and my sex, my family lands I protect,’ Neville thought before thrusting forward, forcing his dick into the other man’s tight passage. Moans and groans melded as with tiny jerks and thrusts, Neville continued to force his way completely into the other man’s body, until he bottomed out, as promised. Blaise lay trembling and gasping in his arms, eyes squeezed shut tight. “You okay?” Neville asked

He nearly screamed when Blaise’s body constricted around him, squeezing him almost painfully before loosening. “Fuck me,” the incubus hissed. “Use me. Fuck me and then fill me. Make me feel your cock in me for days.” 

Neville didn’t need to be told another time. Bracing himself against the floor, he began a punishing rhythm that saw him never really pulling far from the other man, but continuously pistoning forward, pushing Blaise forcibly into Neville’s arms, braced right above his shoulders. Split wide open for the nymph, one leg trapped under Neville’s, the other held wide, trapped between Neville’s arm and Blaise’s own body as Neville continued to thrust and fill him, practically bouncing on him, in him.

“You love this, don’t you,” Neville gasped. “Being filled, being fucked. You love the feel of a cock opening you up, being used for our pleasure. There’s nothing you like more, is there, than knowing we’re using you and going to fill you up with our cum.” 

“Mmm, yes, Neville, fill me, use me,” he gasped in between thrusts. “Spill your seed in me, plant yourself so deep inside me. Let me feel you take root and consume me.” 

Neville lost his controlled rhythm. It never failed. Blaise seemed to know instinctually what to say at any given moment to make his lovers go wild and plunge to their release. He moaned happily as he felt those first spurts of cum fill him. Magic washed over him, not his own. He blinked blurrily around him. “What was that?’ 

“The manor wards,” Neville mumbled. “We’re good, it’s safe,” he continued nuzzling against Blaise’s shoulder. “So good, Blaise.” He reached down and caressed the place where he was still filling the other man. “Amazing. You’re so amazing. Never get tired of fucking you.” He sighed. “We should probably go get cleaned up. you need a room, and we should probably check on Luna, too.” 

“I don’t need my own room,” Blaise protested. “I could just sleep with you.” 

Neville grinned, thrusting against the dark skinned man as he sat up. “I don’t think we’d get a whole lot of sleeping done, do you?” 

Blaise stretched and purred, practically writhing against Neville. “I wouldn’t mind.” 

Neville laughed and rolled free of Blaise’s body. Blaise mewed in protest, watching Neville roll up into a stand. Still feeling satisfied and somewhat content, he lay there spread legs and reach down to play with his messy hole, fingers squishing about the combination of slick and cum, he smeared it into his balls and up his spent dick, hooded eyes watching Neville for any sign the other man would be willing to go again. 

“Come on. My gram is out at the moment, but she could return at any time. I’d rather continue this behind bedroom doors,” Neville offered, reaching down to haul Blaise up. The lift was more powerful than Blaise had expected, and he ended up stumbling to find his footing. Neville was right there behind him, steadying him, fingers pressed into his hips bones hard enough to potentially leave bruises on someone less delicate than himself, broad chest pressed to his back, and that warm mouth pressed to his throat. “Besides, I want to see you laid out in my bed, looking all sinful and well-fucked, covered in my cum.” 

“Yes,” Blaise breathed. Definitely the right choice to come here for his alternate holiday plans, he thought, allowing Neville to swish and flick them both clean and dressed. He followed Neville from the room and up the main stair case to the family wing, a satisfied smile stretching his lips. 

**&&&&**

Hannah was surprised at first when the portkey she and Susan had taken from Kings Cross station deposited them in a completely unfamiliar garden in front of an equally unfamiliar manor house, but seeing her friends at ease with the surroundings, she dutifully followed the other ginger girl into the up the lane and into the house. The three story structure easily rivaled from the front view the Bones Manor Hannah was more familiar with. 

“We’re in Megchelen,” Susan finally said as they approached the great front door and she placed her palm on the solid looking wood. The door glowed briefly before parting before them. “Hannah Abbott, be welcomed to Kasteeltje van Beenderen” 

Hannah blinked. “Megchelen?” 

“Netherlands,” Susan confirmed with a little smile. “One of my great-grandfathers had it built for his bride as a summer home back in the 1820’s. Of course, it’s been abandoned for most of this century, but it’s one of the properties I absolutely fell in love with when I was going through everything this summer.” 

She sighed as she continued to lead her best friend into the structure. “Ten bedrooms, six baths, another six water closets. A formal sitting and dining room, a family room and breakfast room, a separate library and study. The cellar boasts a potions lab in addition to all the regular trappings. There’s a conservatory out back with an indoor and outdoor pool. Upstairs there’s an owlery and a perfect balcony for stargazing. It’s quite perfect for me.” 

Hannah felt a fissure of fear. “You sound like you don’t plan to stay in England after Hogwarts.” 

“I don’t,” the dark haired ginger confessed. “That’s not to say I won’t help out with the war, but… afterwards, if I survive…” She offered another sad smile before turning and calling out. “Calley?” 

“Yes, Mistress Bones,” a young house elf popped into appearance before them. “Welcome back, Mistress Bones.” 

“Thank you, Calley. This is my very good friend, Hannah Abbott. Would you take our bags up to our rooms? Hannah can have the daffodil room, please. And then will you bring some tea out to the conservatory?” 

“Of course, Mistress. Calley will be seeing that done right away,” the little elf agreed, disappearing with a snap. 

“Come on,” Susan said to Hannah. “I think you’ll like the conservatory, too. You might even want to invite Neville to visit,” she added with a little smirk. 

Hannah forced a laugh and shoulder bumped her best friend. “You just want some free advice for your garden.” 

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Susan agreed, taking her friend’s hand and giving it a little squeeze. “Is he as good with humans as he is with plants?” she teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

“Even better,” Hannah confessed. “What he can do with those hands of his, not to mention his tongue…” Her eyes fluttered in remembrance and Susan laughed delightedly. 

“I might just need to borrow him for more than just my garden,” the Bones heiress joked. 

“Not a chance!” 

“So mean!” Susan poohed. “You won’t even share with your best friend!” 

They stepped through the door at the end of the corridor and into a seemingly tropical jungle. The warm, humid air was a striking difference to the winter chill of the outside, reminding Hannah of some of the greenhouses back at Hogwarts. Looking around at the different plants and flowers growing in unbridled riot, Hannah knew Susan was right that Neville would enjoy this place. They traipsed through the foliage along a paved path, following the sound of splashing water until they came to the pool patio, complete with a small waterfall in the corner that churned the water, spilling some into a stream-like channel that she suddenly realized trailed off into the indoor jungle. 

“Pretty neat, huh?” Susan asked, grinning. “I imagine there must be parts in Africa or South America that look like this.” 

She took a seat at the white cast iron table and motioned for Hannah to do the same, already reaching out to pour tea for the both of them from the tea service that appeared when she sat. Hannah made up two plates of biscuits and sandwiches while Susan doctored their tea to taste. Both girls smiled at the simple gestures they had participated in a million times over the years. 

“So, things are going well between you and Neville, then?” Susan asked. “Should I be expecting to hear of a betrothal contract or intent to bond before the end of the school year?” 

Hannah blushed, but couldn’t quite meet her friend’s teasing smile. How could she explain to her best friend that there would probably never be anything so concrete binding her and Neville because, despite what everyone in the school believed, she and Neville weren’t really a couple. They weren’t even a triad. They weren’t even the main foci of their pard, she thought, more than a little melancholy. Not that she regretted her inclusion or begrudged Harry and Hermione their positions of importance… But it was a little off-putting to know you were replaceable in the whole scheme of things. 

“Hannah, what is it?” Susan asked, leaning over and touching her trembling hand. 

She hadn’t even realized her hand was trembling. Fighting back sudden tears and a gut-wrenching longing to be with her pard mates, Hannah forced a smile onto her normally cheerful face. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being silly.” 

Susan’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t think so. There’s something going on. I know there is. I know you haven’t told me nearly everything. Is it Neville? Has he been… he hasn’t hurt your or forced you into anything has he?” she demanded, spitting angry and ready to key back to London and hunt down the Gryffindor. 

“No!” Hannah gasped. “It’s nothing like that! Goodness, Susan, how could you think such a thing, of Neville of all people! I mean, you’ve known him even longer than I have!” 

“Just because your families run in the same circles doesn’t mean you really know a person,” Susan denied, still unconvinced something wasn’t wrong. “So he’s not hurting you?” 

“No, not at all. Neville is a gentle soul.” 

“And he hasn’t forced you into anything?” 

“Neville doesn’t need to force his will on anyone,” Hannah argued. “He is a steady soul. Really, sometimes I think he should have been sorted into Hufflepuff more than Gryffindor. He works hard and is up most loyal to his friends.” 

Susan nodded in agreement, still frowning. “Has he not made any mentions of a formal commitment?” 

Hannah sighed. “No, but nor have I,” she admitted. “I don’t think there will be any formal commitment, either.” 

“What? But why not?” 

Hannah bit her lip, wondering how she should proceed. It wasn’t like she could come right out and tell her friend she was in a polyamorous relationship, could she? Or that she was the only one in their pard who was simply a plain old witch, without any other special inheritance… Other than the fact Harry had accepted her, she really had no real place in the pard, did she. 

“Hannah?” Susan whispered brokenly, watching her best friend slip into silent tears. “What is it? You can tell me anything. You know I will keep your confidences as my own.” 

“Do you swear it?” Hannah asked before she even realized it. She did desperately want to unload her worries and fears, and it wasn’t like anyone else in the pard could really understand, could they? 

Susan blinked, surprised. They had been fast friends ever since their first night in Hogwarts. They had shared numerous secrets and confidences, but never had they sworn to uphold those secrets. That hadn’t needed to as children, but now… Now they were adults in the eyes of magic and society. Now their secrets had the potential to be so much more dangerous than girlhood crushes and gossip. 

Susan sat back and withdrew her wand. “I, Susan Amelia Bones, so swear to keep Hannah Elizabeth Abbott’s confidences as my own.” 

The magic swirled around both girls before settling, and Hannah took a deep breath before launching into the tale of the past four months, in true best friend fashion, leaving no little detail out. 

**&&&&&**

Neville led Blaise up to the family wing, showing him which rooms had been assigned to Luna and which were to be for his use before leading him into the heir suite. The door hadn’t even closed behind them before Neville was feeding from Blaise’s mouth once again. 

“So glad you changed your mind and decided to come,” he murmured feverently, tugging at Blaise’s robes. 

“Do so enjoy coming,” the incubus replied, nipping at Neville’s lips and doing a bit of tugging of his own. 

“I do hope you’ll be willing to invite one more into your play?” Luna mused from her perch upon Neville’s bed. “Although, I suppose it can be entertaining enough to watch the two of you.” 

“Luna,” Neville gasped, whirling to find the girl, naked and reclined against his bedsheets. “I thought you were still bathing…” 

She smiled at them and stretched, her tiny breasts lifting high and calling for attention. “It was a lovely bath, thank you, although, I’ll confess, it was a tad bit lonely without anyone there to wash my back,” the blonde mewed. “Perhaps next time.” 

“Do you mean to tell me our green man did not satisfactorily see to your needs?” Blaise mockingly teased, stepping away from Neville to join Luna on the bed. She reached up for him even as he crawled over to her. 

“You are too dressed for bed.” 

“You are, of course, correct, once again, mia bella incantatrice,” Blaise purred even as he pressed kissed to her sternum. “However shall we rectify this horrible happenstance?” 

Luna actually giggled. “Well, the logical answer is you should undress, of course,” she told him. “But slowly, I think. By hand, piece by piece.” 

Grinning, Neville crossed the room and took a seat at the head of the bed. “Yes, Blaise. You should strip for us, slowly.” 

Blaise looked at them and then laughed delightedly, excited for the game. He used the foot pole to pull himself back up and turned his back on the pair, looking over his shoulder to coyly watch them as he deftly released the fastenings on his outer robe. He let the material slide down off his shoulders, down his arms, revealing his vested back and finally slack encased legs. 

He tossed the robe onto a nearby chair and then turned back to the bed, calmly unfastening the buttons down his waistcoat, leaving the materials to hang loosely. He used the other foot pole to stretch his arms high enough to mostly pull his shirt free of his belt. Then he tackled the buttons of his shirt, again unfastening but not stripping off the garment. He casually toed off his shoes, kicking them under the foot of the bed so they’d be out of the way, before reaching for his belt. 

Hooded-eye, he watched the pair on the bed eagerly watching him, feeding on the lust that poured from the freely. Lust for him, because of him. He turned away, slipping off his waistcoat first and then his shirt, laying both over the same chair he’d chosen for his robes. 

He heard a whimpered moan, and a quick glance back confirmed what he had suspected would happen. Neville had pulled a naked Luna into his lap and was happily playing with her nabs while the girl frigged herself, both still avidly watching him. He smirked—couldn’t help himself even if he wanted to, and why would he want to? He was in the same room as two highly sexual creatures—nearly as much so as himself—and their want, their desire, was him. 

He quickly unfastened his slacks and shoved both slacks and pants off his hips before stepping free of them. bending from the waist, he made sure his arsehole was on plain display, knowing it should still be glistening and red from its earlier use. Using the chair, he slid each sock off, before turning around once more, fully naked and bare to the pair still on the bed. 

Neville was humping Luna’s bum, but as he was still clothed, it wasn’t exactly effectively. Luna was writhing, squirming between Neville’s trapped cock and her own scrabbling fingers, even as she continued to watch him, hooded eyed and opened mouth. Slowly, he prowled back to the foot of the bed and climbed on. 

Watching them, watch him, he crawled up the bed slowly. He crawled up until he reached Luna’s foot first, nuzzling his face against her slightly chilled skin, fragrant from whatever oils were in her recent bath. He slid his face up along her calf, her knee… her thigh… until finally—finally! —he nuzzled her sex, chasing her fingers away to replace them with his lips and mouth and tongue, happily lapping up her juices and coaxing her to come undone between Neville’s continued stimulation of her budding breasts and his own oral talents. 

Luna came undone with a tiny shout, thighs squeezing close around Blaise’s head, one tiny hand buried in Blaise’s dark locks, the other curled around Neville’s neck, holding them both to her as Neville continued to suck on her throat and shoulder. Blaise id not let up until she started tugging at him, begging for mercy and gasping, twitching uncontrollably. Only then did he kneel back, his face shining in the low light the filtered through the room from a night globe on the bed stand table. 

He met Neville’s eyes over the gasping girl’s shoulders, shining brightly with lust and hunger. 

“We’re not done yet.” 

“No, not nearly,” he agreed, launching himself up and across Luna to reach Neville’s mouth and share the decadent taste that was Luna. 

Neville rolled, forcing them to twist and turn as a whole unit until Blaise was below, back to the mattress, a squirming Luna still sandwiched between himself and Neville who was still humping Luna’s ass, but now that action transferred to Blaise’s pelvis and not his face, which was being happily consumed by said man. 

Blaise was more than willing to respond, moaning up into Neville’s mouth even as his hips twitched and twerked. Luna squirmed between the two, and Blaise was distracted from Neville’s mouth for but a moment as her small hand slipped around him, and on the very next gyration, his cock slid between the slippery folds of her sex, and he groaned into Neville’s mouth. 

“So wet,” he murmured. “So hot.” 

“So empty,” she responded, jerking against him, tempting him to adjust his angle just so…and with the next thrust of Neville’s pelvis crushing down into her, smooshing her down into Blaise, his cock easily popped inside her puffy pink lips and split her open. She cried out, trembling as another orgasm washed over her. Neville sped up, more than a little excited by the fact he was setting the tempo for the other two. Blaise held own, easily and readily relinquishing control as Luna’s body danced over him, coaxing him towards his own release. 

“Do it,” Luna whispered harshly against his cheek. “Come.” 

He needed no other encouragement, as with a muffled shout he let go. He wasn’t sure how long he was unaware—it couldn’t have been that long, but when he was next alert, it was to the realization that Neville’s cock was shoving in beside his own and effectively squeezing him free of Luna’s body. Luna’s breath caught… and then Neville was grunting, thrusting away with abandon as he chased after his own completion. 

Blaise lay satiated beneath the two, lazily absorbing small bits of sexual magic that continued to radiate, once again thinking how lucky he was that he couldn’t get fat from such a smorgasbord as the pard offered him… and how grateful he was to be a part of it all. 

Neville released with a shout before collapsing atop them. Luna squirmed and wiggled, before finally telling him, “At least finish taking off the rest of your clothes.” 

Grumpily, he did, kicking off his slacks and pants that had been previously pushed down to his knees and losing more than one button as he fumbled with his shirt. But finally, equally as naked as the other two, Neville curled up in bed behind Luna, reaching over and curling a possessive grip onto Blaise’s thigh. 

The trio slept until Mrs. Longbottom found them like that. 

 

**********  
Still to come…  
-Attack!  
-Augusta Longbottom Responds  
-The Pard Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is still singing "School's out for summer..." :) We'll see if we can get more than two chapters updated this season, eh?  
> Thanks for sticking with this. As always, this is a mostly raw and un-beta-ed work-in-progress. Mistakes in mechanics and continuity are all my own.


	28. 28 – The Unimaginable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione fight; Neville, Luna, Blaise have an uncomfortable wake-up; Hannah has a difficult talk with her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta-ed, mostly unedited, but... the next chapter exists!  
> Special warning for violence and descriptions of sexual torture and bestiality.

28 – The Unimaginable – 

~THEN~ 

Harry and Hermione had every intention of setting up wards and protection measures for her parents. “At the very least, we’d like to put up a detection and proximity ward,” Harry told them. “It will alert you whenever someone magical comes within a certain radius of your house or office. We can tie the ward to a paper or other item, color code it, too.”

“I’d also like to ward the shed out back,” Hermione told her parents. “If you’re home, and someone comes by with intentions to hurt you, you and mum can go out to the shed and hide until they leave.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“I would rather it not be necessary and you have it available then you needing it and not having it,” Hermione told them bluntly. “It’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing.”

Later that very same night, a strange sound roused Harry and Hermione from where they slept, snuggled together in the guest bedroom. 

“What is that?” Hermione yawned. 

“I don’t—” Harry began before sitting straight. There, on the night stand was the card he’d charmed earlier in the evening. 

It was vibrating quickly. 

And it was black. 

 

~NOW~

 

\- Thursday, December 11, Early hours, Grangers’ Home near London- 

Harry and Hermione rolled and fumbled out of bed, racing to the window to look outside. “Go, get your parents,” he whispered urgently, without taking his eyes from the scene out on the street below. “Hide them in the shed and stay there with them.” 

“Like hell,” Hermione growled, pushing up beside him, trying to catch a peek at whatever it was he saw—She saw nothing at first, until she did. The small tell-tale ripple of a disillusionment, and not a very powerful one. “I’m not going to leave you alone.” 

“We don’t even know how many,” Harry protested. “It could just be one—“ 

That sentiment was negated a moment later when six fireballs originating from seemingly empty air were hurtled at the Granger House. 

“Go!” Harry shouted, ducking even as one of the fireballs came directly towards them. The flames smashed against the glass, continued to burn for another moment, and then fizzled away under the fire protection wards. He shoved at Hermione, but she was already moving, scrabbling away to get to her parents’ bedroom. 

Harry risked another peek out the window. The disillusion spells must have fallen because he could see them now. Six black-robed figures, all wearing the skeleton bone white masks of Death Eaters. They seemed to be arguing when one stepped away and raised his wand towards the house again. Harry wasn’t sure what the spell was or what it did, but he heard a sucking noise. Frowning, he watched to see what they would do next, hoping Hermione was using her time to get herself and her parents to safety. 

*** 

Hermione scooted down the hall and knocked hastily at her parents’ closed bedroom door. Even in an emergency, habits of decorum were ingrained. “Mum! Dad!” she whisper-shouted through the door. “Wake up!” 

“Hermione?” her father’s groggy voice answered. 

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” her mother asked, sounding much more awake as she came to the door.

“We have to go, to the shed, hide,” she gasped. “House, under attack!” 

“What—Hermione, it’s the middle of the night. Are you sure you didn’t just have a bad dream?” 

“It’s a nightmare all right,” Hermione huffed. “Come on, we can’t dawdle—we—”

Whatever she would have said next was swallowed up in a thundering concussion that rattled the entire house. Both her mother and father cried out in shock and fear-filled surprise. 

“What the hell was that?” her father demanded grabbing hold of the trim for support. 

“Death eaters,” Harry huffed, scuttling down the hallway. “Six of them. When fire didn’t work at first they started throwing bombarding curses. We need to get out of here. It’s not safe!” 

“But—why?” Mrs. Granger gasped. 

“They’re terrorists,” Harry breathed, snatching at her wrist and tugging her towards the stairs. “They want to hurt me and Hermione—” 

“Hermione and me,” Mrs. Granger corrected automatically. 

“They might not even know we’re here,” Harry pressed on. “In fact, I think they were surprised by the fact there were already some wards on the house. But that doesn’t mean they’ll give up that easily.” 

“I’ve put up extra wards around the shed,” Hermione hissed from behind as she herded her father into following her mother and Harry downstairs and into the kitchen. “Once you’re inside, it should hide and protect you from anyone who wants to hurt you.” 

“Wait! What about you?” her mother demanded, reaching for her only child. 

“We have to try and stop them,” Hermione tried to explain, but the house was rocked again. This time, it felt like the very foundations had been attacked, and Mrs. Granger screamed. It must have been loud enough to be heard from outside because there was laughter before the house rocked again. 

They scrambled to the back door and yanked it open. 

Only it didn’t open. Harry fiddled with the locks a moment before Mr. Granger pushed him out of the way to try the locks himself. Still, the door held fast. 

“What the—this door never jammed before.” 

“They must have sealed it,” Hermione reasoned, jabbing her wand at the door to try and counter the seal. When that didn’t work, Harry tried to bust the door down, earning a bruised shoulder in reward and a still sealed door. 

“Damn it.” 

Hermione turned her wand towards a nearby window and attempted to break the glass, but it, too, held. 

“We can’t get out…” Hermione turned to Harry. “We can’t get out. We’ll all die in here.” 

The house shook again. They could hear the smattering of glass as lamps fell over. Dust began to fill the air as the very framework of the house began to shift, plaster cracking, floors buckling. 

“Gotta get out of here,” Harry muttered, looking between Hermione and her parents. squeezing his wand, he shot his own bombarda at the door and watched it bow outwards but still hold. Growling, he whirled towards one of the windows and tried again, to much of the same effect. Frustrated, he aimed for the space between window and door and watched as the wall splintered apart in a shower of plaster and wood. The Granger family all screamed as the wood splinters went flying—thankfully outwards and not directly at them. 

“Harry!” Hermione shouted. 

“GO!” he returned “Get in the shed!” 

If she thought to argue, she thankfully resisted in an effort to hustle her mother and father out of the house and into the shed. 

“Around back!” someone shouted before black smoke convalesced in the patio area and spell fire started flashed. 

Harry wasted no time in jumping out of the gaping hole after the Grangers and returning the spell fire. He blocked as many of the spells aimed towards the group just clearing the shed as possible, either with shield spells or various items he could throw in a spell’s path. Until the door shut, and the Deatheaters seemed to forget about the Grangers. 

Harry found himself under attack from six different foes, all aiming for him. He jumped out of the way of one spell, only to have another slice through his calf. Hissing, he redoubled his own attack spells. Surely with all this magic being thrown around someone would come to investigate. He just had to hold out until then…

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, darted back towards him from the dark. His chest lurched in panic at the sight of her running back into danger. 

“It’s Potter, boys!” one of the Death Eaters called. 

“That means we’re in luck! Two for one!” 

The six death eaters all laughed as they continued to throw deadly spell fire at the two teens. 

Harry caught another cutter to his upper arm, but he was able to knocked the offender out with a stupefy. Not that it did much good when one of the other death eaters just revived him. Hermione cried out, and Harry whirled around to catch her, shooting another stupefy at the death eater wielding the fire whip. 

“Stunning’s not enough!” she panted, looking Harry in the eyes. “We need to take them down permanently.” 

Instinctively, he wanted to balk at the concept, but he understood it, too. It was fruitless to continue stunning and disarming their attackers. If even Hermione saw it that way, how was he to continue denying what he already knew had to happen. Hermione, who was bleeding against him… 

With a shout, Harry turned his own wand back towards the nearest attacker and shouted out the expelling curse. 

Hermione and he danced out of the way of an angry fizzling purple curse before whirling back to back, firing off curses as fast has their wands can move through the movements. There were only six death eaters, but they weren’t holding back, and they had the two teens surrounded.

The fighting was intense and frenzied—a ferociousness that their previous muggle baiting lacked. Hermione caught one in the leg, and the death eater toppled over screaming as he clutched at the ruined missing limb. Harry’s expelling curse caught another in the side, slicing the figure open and sending him scrambling to hold his guts.

Hermione muffled another scream of pain. “I’m fine,” she insists when Harry tried to turn to her again. “Watch out!” she shouted, slashing her own wand and sending several blades of air towards another death eater. She was too late as the bone crusher curse smashed into Harry’s right leg, and he went down in shock. 

The distraction was long enough. Harry was hit again, this time with a cruciartus that sent fire racing down along his nerve endings. He heard Hermione’s voice overlapping his mother’s, screaming his name, but before he can finish clawing himself free of the cloud of pain, blackness had taken him.

And then nothing. 

****&&****

It was later than she’d intended when Augusta Longbottom returned to her home at Longbottom Manor. It had been her home for nearly fifty years now, ever since her dear George brought her here as his young bride. The lovable fool…how she missed him. Their Frank had really been the best of both of them. And now her Neville… Well, he really wasn’t much of anything like his father or grandfather. 

That wasn’t to say she didn’t care for the boy. She did, although she knew she was never an overly affectionate person and to be honest, she had never really cared for children as a whole. But her Neville was a good child. Quiet, obedient, a bit of a mess and ragamuffin, it was true. The boy would rather be digging through the dirt than attending to his book work, and if he really had come into the Longbottom family inheritance… 

Her George had often lamented not having received the full family inheritance, although he had seemed quite satisfied with his “green thumb” as he called it. He had designed a special garden just for her to sit in and enjoy whenever she wanted. She barely visited anymore. Perhaps she should do that. Take Neville with her. She was sure the boy could work his magic and revive the poor garden. 

Their Frank hadn’t even inherited his father’s green thumb, let alone the family magics. She had lamented—railed and flailed against him marrying a commoner, a Flume. Barely a pureblooded family. Frank had been stubborn though. Truly a Gryffindor. He’d married the silly girl and then not even five years later they’d been incapacitated. Not that that was their fault. No, Frank and Alice had fought bravely to defend their home and protect their little boy. 

And their little boy had grown up, she thought somewhat nostalgically. Neville was already of age. If he had been the last Longbottom alive he could have claimed his head of Family status already. As it was, she continued to hold it in proxy for him. She could have transferred the rights and responsibilities over to him already, but she wanted him to focus on his last year of schooling and his NEWTS. Afterwards, if he decided to attain his Mastery, she didn’t want him to have to worry about family duties, too. She was more than capable of managing the family—had been for fifteen years now. What was another five or eight years? By twenty-five Neville would be quite ready to take up the mantle, and truthfully, she thought she would be ready to relinquish it by then. 

And maybe, just maybe, there would be a new Heir Longbottom at that point in time, as well. If the gossiping of the old busybodies she’d just left were to be believed that is. She wondered if it was true—did her Neville really have a girlfriend tucked away at Hogwarts? The Abbotts were an old, respectable family. Mostly Hufflepuffs, but there wasn’t anything wrong with that—loyalty and hardworking were good traits to have in a spouse. She wondered as she wandered up to her grandson’s rooms if she shouldn’t contact the Abbott and seek to draw up initial engagements. Nothing binding—after all, they were still just children and could quite easily change their minds. 

It was with thoughts of engagements and potential bonding ties with the Abbotts in mind that Augustus peeked in on her grandson. It was still a somewhat decent hour of evening, and so she expected him to be reading in front of the fire, not already in bed. Then again, she never expected to see so much of her grown grandson, let alone two other naked bodies in the bed with him. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanding. 

The trio on the bed came awake with a start, once again flashing her more flesh than she cared to see. She pointedly set her sights at a point above the headboard and glared. 

“Gran! What are you doing in here?” Neville sputtered, sitting up.

“I was late in returning home,” she explained succinctly. “I merely wished to check in on you and ensure you had eaten and bathed before retiring for the night. I most certainly did not expect to find you already abed, let alone not alone! I’m disappointed, Neville. Now, quickly clothe yourself appropriately, say goodbye to your… companions, and then meet me in the family room,” she directed before turning to head there herself. 

“No.” 

She froze, half turned back towards the bed. “Excuse me.” 

“No,” Neville repeated. “I’ve extended right of hospitality to Luna and Blaise. They are here as my welcomed guests, and you will not send them away. And as we have already turned in for bed, unless it is an emergency, anything you have to say can either be said here and now or it can wait until morning.” 

“Neville, this is highly improper,” Augusta scolded. “Your…friends can go to their own room if they must spend the night, but I insist we talk privately. Now.” 

“No,” Neville repeated for the third time. “Luna and Blaise will stay right where they are. It is you who is being inappropriate right now. You had no right entering my rooms without warning or invitation and so you have only yourself to blame for your embarrassment.” 

“Neville,” Luna hedged. 

“Perhaps it would be better,” Blaise agreed, warily eying the older witch acutely aware that his wand was out of reach. 

“You will stay,” Neville barked, brooking no disagreement from the other two who quickly relaxed back against the soft cushions of the bed, all tension magically withdrawn from their limbs. “My Gram is just leaving.” 

“You overstep yourself, Neville,” Augusta stated angrily. 

“I think you will find it is you who have overstepped themselves, Gram. Good night.”

Augusta’s wand was in her hand in a snap, a stinging hex flying at Neville before the three could comprehend what was happening. “You may be older now, but you will never be too old to be punished for disrespect young man. Now, say goodbye to your friends. They may spend the night—in their own rooms—as you’ve already offered them hospitality, but they will be leaving in the morning. And you, sir, are grounded for the remainder of the holidays.” 

“You can’t do that!” Neville protested. 

“I am the matriarch of this family. While you live in my house, under my roof, you’ll find, I can.” 

“This is my house, my family!” Neville argued.

“And until you’re twenty-five, I’m still in charge!” Augusta shouted back.

Neville couldn’t have looked more shocked and stunned if she had physically struck him. “You would keep me from my inheritance?” he whispered before growling, “My birthright?” 

“It is my duty to this family,” August responded firmly, “If I think you are not yet ready or mature enough for the responsibility…? Yes.” 

“Bello amante verde,” Blaise entreated, reaching out to capture Neville’s attention while still cradling Luna to him. “We can go. My villa, it is mine. No one will chase us away. A few quick hops, and we’ll be there.” 

“I don’t mind,” Luna mused. “Although we should leave word for the others. They’re most likely to stop here to look for us.” 

Neville looked beyond angry, but he finally nodded. “Fine.” 

Smiling beatifically, Luna leaned up and dropped a quick kiss on Neville’s lips, uncaring that his grandmother was still standing there, glowering and simmering. She crawled over Blaise to get out of the bed and practically pranced around the room as she redressed. With a sigh and a kiss for Neville as well—this one involving more tongue than Luna’s simple kiss—Blaise also slid from the bed and began to redress. 

Seeing the two finally leave her grandson’s bed, Augusta nodded and turned away, repeated her directive, “I will see you in the family room. Five minutes, Neville.” 

Neville didn’t respond as he watched her leave. Only once the door was shut behind her did he growl and get up. “Fagus!” he shouted, startling the other two. A quiet pop signaled a house elf’s arrival. 

“Yes, Master Neville?” the tiny creature queried. 

“I will be leaving Longbottom Manor for the foreseeable future,” Neville calmly told the elf. “I’m expecting to hear from some of my friends and mates, though.” 

“Oh, of course, Master Neville. Fagus can be collecting any mail you receive and deliver it to you, iffen you like?” 

“I would, thank you,” Neville breathed, grateful for the little elf’s loyalty. “If Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Hannah Abbott arrive looking for us, please let them know we’ve all relocated to Blaise’s villa in Italy for the remainder of the holiday.” 

“Fagus can be doing that, certainly Master Neville. Would you be liking Fagus to be giving Mistress Augusta a message from young master after he’s gone?” 

“Not tonight, Fagus. I’m still too mad at her. Maybe tomorrow,” Neville sighed, gratefully accepting Luna’s comforting rubbing of his shoulders before turning to Blaise. “Are you sure we’re okay at your place?” 

“Most definitely,” the dark skinned incubus assured his lovers. “The villa is both mine and heavily warded. Plus, who would ever expect Gryffindor Neville Longbottom or the Ravenclaw Luna Lovegood to holiday in Italy?” He smiled mischievously. “Mayhap perchance I even allow you out of bed long enough to explore the city.” 

Luna laughed. “Is that a challenge to try and exhaust you, Blaise?”

“Let me make up a bag then,” Neville sighed. “Luna, do you need to swing back by your place and pack something more suitable for the Mediterranean?” 

“I don’t think I have anything at home that would suit,” the blonde mewed. 

“Then I shall simply have to keep you naked,” Blaise purred, scrapping his teeth along her throat. “Or take you shopping,” he added pulling back and grinning toothily. “I think I would love to see you both dressed out in some of the finest Italian fashions. You would look even more enchanting!” 

“Ah, well, that’s settled then,” Luna concluded. “What’s the best way to get there? You don’t happen to have an international portkey, do you?” 

“Ah, no. Nothing so fine unfortunately. I usually just use the floo network. We can go to the Leaky Cauldron first, and then you can follow me the rest of the way there. Not as quick and convenient as a portkey, but we should be in our new beds within the hour.” 

“Then we’d best get started,” Neville affirmed. “My grandmother will be looking for me to attend her.” 

“Won’t she be angry you’ve left?” Luna mused sadly. 

“I don’t care right now,” Neville responded, still angry himself. “Let’s go. The sooner, the better.” 

“Hopefully the others’ evening is less eventful,” Blaise sighed, following the other two to the main entrance hall and the floo connection there. It wasn’t his favorite way to travel, but nor was it his least favorite, either, he thought, stepping first into the fireplace and whisking away from Longbottom Manor. 

 

***&&&***

The outpour of words suddenly dried up, and Hannah took a delicate sip of her tea, waiting for her dearest and bestest friend to say something. For another full minute, Susan said nothing, sitting in her white-washed iron chair across from her, staring back at her, face blank. 

Finally, Susan blinked. Opened her mouth. And then shut it again. Nervous fingers reached for her own tea cup, and with a forced calmness, she sipped at the cooled brew—wincing slightly at the tepid liquid and reaching for her wand to reheat both their cups. She cleared her throat, and then tried again. 

“So, you mean to say, that is, you have been sleeping with Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, since the first month of the school year, and you never breathed a word of it.” Hannah looked down at her teacup and nodded. “And not only Harry Potter, but in fact, you have been participating in an entire group. You’ve been engaging in group sex, with Harry Potter—who everyone believes to be dating Hermione—and Neville—who everyone believes you to be dating. And Luna Lovegood and Hermione are also participating. And now you’ve added another member—a Slytherin, no less—Blaise Zabini.” 

Hannah cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s right.” 

“You’ve been disappearing regularly to go off had have wild group sex, for the last three months,” Susan summed up, sounding rather disappointed and angry with her friend. “And you never even thought to invite me?” 

Hannah’s shoulders slumped and her blue eyes teared up. “Oh, Suz, it’s not like that! I mean, it’s not just… not just anyone can just, join! It’s, it’s way more complicated than that.” 

“I don’t see how,” the ginger playfully pouted, and Hannah mentally sighed with relief, understanding she wasn’t about to lose her friend over this—as strange as ‘this’ was. Her best friend was in a relationship, with multiple people, had been having sex, with multiple people, for several months, and Hannah hadn’t told her. 

Hannah huffed, searching her mind for the best way to explain. “Do you remember how, on your birthday, you were a bit put out that you didn’t get some great big powerful family inheritance?” 

“Not that the Bones’ family magics are all that great to boast about in these days and times,” Susan sighed, but she’d remembered the sting of disappointment. “You didn’t, either,” Susan pointed out a moment later, eyes narrowing in on the other girl, searching her as if to see if she could physically see some type of change. 

“No,” Hannah readily agreed. “I didn’t,” she stressed herself. 

“You’re saying one of the others did,” Susan surmised. “And from the order, it would have been… Harry?” Susan’s eyes blew wide with the juicy piece of gossip. “Harry Potter had a family inheritance,” she half-spoke, half-questioned. “Who am I kidding, of course he did. He’s bloody Harry Potter. He never seems to get a break, does he? But… a power boost could only be a good thing for him, right? I mean, with the way You-Know-Who keeps coming after him…” 

“It was a bit more than just a power boost,” Hannah confessed. 

“You’re saying—are you saying—“ Susan floundered. “The Potters haven’t had an actually creature inheritance in… at least three hundred years, isn’t it?” 

“Something like that, but even then, Harry’s Harry. He has to be special, you know that,” Hannah pointed out, and Susan huffed out a little laugh. 

“True. So, you’re saying his creature is more than a little amorous, I take it?” Susan pressed on. “Is that why you’re sleeping with so many people now when I know for a fact you were still a virgin when we left for Hogwarts this year?” 

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” Hannah agreed. “His creature has been building a small group. Blaise called it a circle, but we just refer to ourselves as a pard.” 

“Strange name.” 

Hannah shrugged. “We like it.” 

“So, is Harry the one who hurt Zachary when he was going around saying those mean things about you back in September? He was, wasn’t he? I thought it might have been Neville since Ernie and Justin wouldn’t fess up to it being one of them, but knowing Harry’s a creature now, and you’re his… well, girlfriend doesn’t quite work, does it? How do you refer to each other? I mean, since there’s so many of you?” 

“Mates,” Hannah answered. “We’re all Harry’s mates. It’s a little less awkward that referring to each other as girlfriends and boyfriends. It’s actually rather… comfortable,” she confessed after a moment’s hesitancy. “I mean, sometimes I feel a little strange about it all, but that’s more like this little voice trying to tell me it’s not proper for there to be more than two people in a romantic relationship with each other, you know?” 

“Well, it certainly isn’t done very often, it’s true,” Susan agreed. “Even triads are not very common now and days. But it’s not like it all that uncommon, either. And the six of you could easily just pair off and present yourselves as three couples if you wanted. I mean, if you didn’t want the rest of the world knowing right away—not that it’s really any of their business, but it’s Harry Potter. Hell, even if it wasn’t Harry, those greedy gossip-mongrels would be all over the idea of a poly-amorous relationship. And did you say circle?” 

Hannah nodded. “When Blaise first started sniffing around us, he’d thought we were building a circle. I can see why when I look at it from his point of view, outside of the pard.” 

“Oh my goodness, Hannah, if the media thought you were making a circle with Harry Potter…” Susan breathed. 

“I know. One hasn’t been formed in nearly five hundred years—Hermione looked it up. We’re not. At least, I don’t think we are. Luna says there will be more mates, but I can’t honestly see our pard expanding to a full circle size.” 

“You are already six. What’s five more?” Susan scoffed. 

“It would be six, with Harry as the focus,” Hannah immediately correct, eyes widening when she realized what she’d done. 

A large smirk spread across Susan’s face. “So you’ve thought about it!” 

“Of course we have,” Hannah sighed. “Once Blaise brought it up, it wasn’t something Hermione would allow to pass without fully researching the possibilities. But even Luna was rather skeptical about our pard forming a true magical circle.” 

“Why not? You’re already half-way there, I say. Even if you go with the traditionally more powerful pattern of one, five, and seven. And I really don’t understand how Luna Lovegood managed to—I mean, I realize she and Harry had been friendly before, what with what happened in fifth year and all, but, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t realize they were that friendly.” 

“It’s a bit complicated,” Hannah sighed again, slumping back in her chair, which really wasn’t comfortable, so she sat back up again. “I told you, Harry had an inheritance? Well, in reality, they all have. I’m the only plain, old, normal witch amongst them,” she pouted. 

“Wait, you mean to say that they’ve all had an inheritance?” Susan clarified, shocked once more by the information she was learning from her best friend. “All of them? Hermione, too? But she’s not a pureblood… Hell, she’s not even a half-blood!” 

“Susan!” Hannah reprimanded. 

“Well, she’s not,” the ginger defended herself. “How can she inherited something she’s never been a part of! It doesn’t make sense, Hannah!” 

“Actually, the Ravenclaws have a project they’re researching along those lines,” Hannah shared. “They’re looking into the muggleborn phenomenon to test if they’re really less powerful than purebloods, like some would have us believe, and if they really aren’t the children of squib lines somehow.” 

“Really?” 

Hannah nodded. 

“That would certainly turn a lot of pureblooded thinking on its side,” Susan mused. “But how are they really going to find out? I mean, it’s not like the muggleborns can all just go to Gringotts and request a blood ancestry test, can they?” 

“Why can’t they?” Hannah demanded. 

“Well, for one, I don’t think they all have enough money to afford such a frivolous test, do you?” 

“It’s only frivolous because you think you already know your blood ancestry,” Hannah pointed out. “But a lot of the muggleborns actually don’t know their blooded history. Hermione was telling us that muggle record keepers weren’t always that precise and that with several wars and what not, much information had been lost.” 

“It’s still a bit of an expense when you don’t have a solidly filled vault already, and anyway, we weren’t talking about muggleborns, we were talking about inheritances.” 

“But that’s just it,” Hannah insisted. “Hermione also came into an inheritance last year. And Blaise. And Neville this summer, along with Harry. And even though Luna’s birthday isn’t until February, her inheritance has been evident since she was much younger. She’s hoping to gain more control over her abilities as her birthday comes and passes, not gain more powers.” 

“They’re all—I mean, are they all creature inheritances, like Harry?” Susan asked agoggled. Hannah nodded. “Damn…” 

“I know, right?” Hannah sulked. “Sometimes I feel just so plain next to them all.” She folded her arms under her breasts.” 

“But they chose you,” Susan reminded her. “Well, Harry chose you, right? And no one’s complained about you being a part of the, the ‘pard’,” she stumbled over the word. “So, I would say that means you belong. And you are not plain, Hannah Abbott. You are a gorgeous young witch with a generous…spirit,” she teased lightly, eyes raking over the other girl’s body. 

Hannah rolled her eyes but still blushed at the gentle teasing her friend had given her since their very first year at Hogwarts when she had been one of the few girls in their entire year whose body had already started blossoming. Generous, indeed. And then she had another thought, of what else she had yet to tell her best friend. Her arms dropped, hands falling to rest over her still flat belly. 

“That’s not all I’ve wanted to tell you.” 

“There’s more?” Susan scoffed. “I can hardly wait to hear what you can tell me next.” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Susan blinked, waiting several moments for the other girl to call out fools or… or something. “You’re not joking.” 

Hannah shook her head slowly, minutely. 

“You’re really serious. You’re honest to goodness pregnant.” 

Hannah nodded silently, pinching her lips together, waiting. 

“Oh my goodness. What—I mean, how—I mean, not how. Obviously I know how, but, oh my goodness, Hannah, what were you thinking? Do you even know who’s it is? How long are you? What are you going to do about NEWTs?” 

“Of course I know who’s it is,” she huffed. “It’s Harry’s. Both Hermione and I are currently pregnant, but we’ve used the stasis spell, which we won’t release until after we’ve finished with our NEWTs, so that won’t be a problem. I highly suspect Luna and Neville will also be pregnant before the end of the school year, too.” 

“Oh, but Neville—“ Susan blinked. “Obviously his creature is something that will allow him to get pregnant easier than a normal wizard, but if he does, he wouldn’t be able to use the stasis spell, will he? And I’m surprised you even found someone who would cast that for you both! That spell hasn’t always been the most reliable.” 

“It has a bit of a bad reputation,” Hannah allowed, “But it’s not a bad spell. We had Madame Pomphrey perform it for us before the holidays. There should be no problems safely postponing the pregnancy until after NEWTs for Hermione and me, but, no, I don’t think it would work for Neville, you’re right there. I’m not sure what he’ll do, what we’ll do.”

“You’re pregnant,” Susan repeated. “You’re really, really pregnant.” 

“Yes.” 

“That is… it’s such a huge thing,” Susan breathed. “Life changing.” 

“And being in a mateship with five other people isn’t?” Hannah asked, more than a little disbelieving. 

“Well, I mean, you could have always changed your mind and left,” Susan argued. “But a baby… that’s a permanent commitment, Hannah. Once you have a baby, you’re going to always be responsible for that baby.” 

“Susan,” the blonde started somewhat stunned. “I would never have left Harry and the pard. There could never be a changing of minds. We’re bonded, and married as any couple that pledges before others. We’re already permanently committed to one another, to Harry. There is no going back from that. A baby won’t change that. In fact, I made the choice to carry Harry’s child before we realized we were forming a pard. It is an honor to carry Harry’s child, to know that I won’t be the last Abbott, and Harry won’t be the last Potter because we’re having a child to carry our names and family magics forward.” 

“I just can’t—I can’t believe you would have agreed to something so seemingly reckless, Hannah. You’re not even out of Hogwarts and you’re already planning for babies! What about a career? Weren’t you going to see about healer training?” 

“I can still study healing magics without going through with healer or medi-witch training,” she pointed out. “It’s not as if I’m giving up any dreams to be with Harry and the others, but being with them does change things. Until the snake-faced bastard and his minions are taken care of, defense and protection of our pard will take precedence, especially with the babies coming. After that’s taken care of, we’ll all be able to reassess what it is we want and need for ourselves and each other.” 

Susan stared at her long-time friend. “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore,” she whispered sadly, feeling a little lost. 

“I’m still me,” Hannah entreated before patting her belly. “There’s just a little more to me now, that’s all.” 

The ginger huffed out a broken laugh. “I don’t know what to say right now. I mean, the orgy parties was a little bit much—a spicy surprise, sure, but, this…” She shook her head.

“And you?” Hannah countered, waving her hand and looking about the room. “Your plans to retire from Britain? What happened to your plans to go into the ministry and become an auror?” 

“Auntie died,” Susan replied, hollowly. “And with you disappearing quite a bit this semester, it’s left me more than a little time to think and consider things.” 

“You’re the last Bones of the main branch.” 

“I know.” Susan sat back, eyes closed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready or even willing to contemplate running off to marry some wizard and conceive a child to carrying on my family name.” 

“What does it mean then, for you?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Until you do, you can’t really be settled,” Hannah warned. Susan glared at her wordlessly. Sighing, Hannah stood. “If you’ll accuse me, I think I’d like to lie down a bit and rest before dinner.” 

Without a protest, her childhood friend and hostess called for an elf to escort her to her rooms for the holiday. All the way, Hannah felt the tightness in her chest increase, wishing at least one of her mates had been able to join her for the holidays. Three weeks never seemed so long a time. 

 

***&&&***

It was cold. That registered first. 

He was cold and hurting. Nothing horribly new or unusual about that. He tried to categorize where he was hurt, but the darkness swam up and swallowed him. 

* *

Still cold. Still pain. And words. Someone was talking, but the words didn’t make sense. A reward? A reward for what? What kind of reward? 

It didn’t matter. He was unconscious again. 

** 

It was the cold that woke her first, followed shortly by the uncomfortableness. Her head ached horribly, her side stung bitingly, and from the tacky feel of her clothes, she knew she’d been blooded. Blinking around at the dirty room, she thought it might be a cellar of some sort. The floor was packed with dirt, hardly forgiving. Heavy manacles weighed down her arms and prevented her from wandering more than a couple of feet away from the wall. 

Almost immediately, she realized Harry was there, too, but she ignored him for the moment to focus on their surroundings. Other than the wall they were attached to, she couldn’t see any of the other walls. Boxes and shelves blocked much of her view. She tugged absently at her wrists—it wasn’t like she expected the metal to just magically slide off her hands. More a compulsory habit than anything. 

Not seeing anything immediately dangerous or helpful, she turned her attention to Harry. His leg was bent out at a wrong angle, and she suspected that a simple bone-mending spell and dose of skelo-grow wasn’t going to be enough to fix it. He also looked fairly well banged up. Several cuts were still sluggishly bleeding, but the most worrying was the giant knot she could see swelling the side of his head. 

He stirred. “Harry?” she hissed, but he didn’t respond. She sighed and shook her wrists again, trying to force her brain to think of a way out of this. No one knew she and Harry were missing. Wasn’t there a department at the ministry for potential misuse of magic? Maybe the use of magic where muggles could see would have alerted someone and they were send others out to investigate? Would they find her family’s home, her parents? Her parents would tell the ministry that she and Harry had been taken. Surely they would send someone out searching for them…. 

Of course, it didn’t matter. If no one knew where they were, they couldn’t be rescued. 

Hermione had never really been in a captured situation before. Sure, there had been that one time during the Triwizard, but she hadn’t been awake for any of that, and really, it was the champions’ duty to see to the needs of their hostages. This was so different. 

No one knew where they were, if they were alright or not. No one was potentially coming for them. They were on their own, with a bunch of death eaters who were planning to turn them over to the dark lord. She couldn’t even be sure her parents made it out all right. Even if they did, what could they really do?

Hermione despaired. They were on their own, both injured and unarmed. 

Somewhere from within the room, a door opened. “Ya mudblooded bitch,” growled a rough voice. “Don’t think I don’t know that it was your curse that caught me. If I didn’t already know your fate, I’d use you myself.” 

“You despise me,” she scoffed, struggling to her feet to be on a somewhat even footing with the wretch that limped into view. 

“Well then, the feeling’s mutual, then, isn’t it?” the man spat. “You stinking filth, coming in a polluting our way of life with your oh so delicate sensibilities. No respect for your betters!”

“Respect is earned through actions, not blood,” Hermione scoffed. “Blood does not make one better than another anymore than skin color or the sex we were born. It is nothing more than a physiological happenstance. It is our character—our choices—that define who we are.” 

“See,” he growled, as if she had proven his point for him. “No respect!” 

“No, I have no respect for you,” she agreed. “You are nothing more than a bully, a terrorist who flaunts laws in order to spread fear and terror. There is nothing respectable about that.” 

“Ah, but you’ll learn,” the man cooed. “The Notts will be rewarded greatly, yes we shall. When we present the Dark Lord with his most hated enemy, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, oh! Then he’ll reward the Notts most generously. He will raise us up and honor and praise our faithful service!” 

“Faithful service? You call attacking a muggle household faithful service?” 

“We bring him Harry Potter!” 

“You are fools.” 

“Quiet girl!” the griseled looking man shouted, wrenching a hand up as if to backhand her. Then he seemed to think better of it, lowering the hand once again. “I can well guess your fate. You’ll be destined for the wolves, you will,” the creepy man practically giggled in mad delight. “The Dark Lord and his pet wolf have been experimenting. Don’t worry. You’ll most likely live. Probably,” the man—if he could even be called a man—laughed again. 

“They’ve gotten better with practice,” he told her. “The first batch didn’t make it… poor shame. Those wolves ate their chattel even as they fucked them. Those monsterous pricks of theirs tearing those girls inside out while they chewed up their necks and backs. Not much left come morning. 

“Had better luck with the second set,” he continued, sneering at her. “They’d learned, you see, to lock the bitches up proper like in a breeding frame—they couldn’t run around, screaming and tempting the wolves to chase them, then. Plus, the breeding frames were covered up in thick hides. The wolves could still bite at them while they fucked, but it wouldn’t bleed them. Several of the chosen bitches even survived the knotting and are supposedly breeding now. 

“The Dark Lord and Fenrir were pretty pleased with the last results. What with the full moon in another two days, there’s a place just waiting for you—spread out and locked in place for the wolves to mount and breed like a true bitch. I bet a mudblood like you would even enjoy it.” 

Hermione tried her damnedest not to show any fear or recoil from the disgusting man taunting her. She tried to focus on finding a way out of their predicament. They had to get out of here. But how? They were quite literally chained to a wall. Who the hell used chains in the twentieth century, she wanted to shout but didn’t. There was a torch higher up on the wall—it cast flicker shadows in the already dim light—but even with her small abilities with fire, she wasn’t sure how she could use it. 

The Death eater before her continued to ramble on, something more about raping her out to others, but she couldn’t focus on that now. If she focused on what the foul, loathsome beast was saying she wouldn’t be able to think about getting out of here, and that had to be the priority. Somehow, someway, she and Harry had to get free, they had to get out of here. 

Beside her, she heard the chains rattle. She had a moment to gasp – the sight of Harry, transforming into his hybrid form, canines elongated, eyes glowing, black fur spurting out to cover him from sole to crown as his clothes stretched and ripped to accommodate his larger frame. 

Hybrid Harry leapt away from the wall, nearly yanking the chains completely free from the wall, claws extended and likely aimed from the death eater’s throat before he was brought up short. He screamed in unsatisfied rage. 

The death eater shouted, stumbled back, and dropped his torch before remembering his prisoners were chained—or realizing that the chain would hold. He laughed again, leaning over to pick up the dropped torch and waving it closer to get a good look at Harry in his in-between form. “Looks like you’re already putting out for the beasties, ain’t ya girlie?” he cackled before lifting the think stick club style and bashing it into the side of Harry’s skull, right over the already sizable forming knot. 

Harry released a pitiful little cry as he crumbled back to the floor, knocked out again before he even had a chance to recover. 

Hermione saw red. Quite literally. 

** 

 

Harry wasn’t sure how he was able to crawl his way back out of the darkness. His head and body hurt. Hurt so badly. And it was not eased at all by the shrill screaming. What did help was remembering he was not safe; what’s more, Hermione was nearby, and she wasn’t safe, either. He had to wake up. He had to protect Hermione and himself. Hermione. 

He forced his eyes open, squinting against the screaming—and saw a world of red. 

No, not really red. Orange. Bright and searing. 

At first, he couldn’t make sense of what it was. But then the world began to slide into focus, and he realized he was seeing Hermione standing in front of him, over him. His Hermione and the death eater before her, who was screaming in pained terror, who was rolling back and forth on the floor, on fire. 

Another death eater ran into the room—at least, Harry believed it to be a death eater, even though he wasn’t wearing the black robes and skull mask of one. Harry thought he heard him shout something at Hermione. In any case, he jabbed his wand at her most threateningly. 

A low, angry growl rumbled up from his throat, completely ignoring how unhappy his head was— and with a shrill screech of tearing his vocal cords, Harry wrenched his wrists free of the heavy metal encasing them, imprisoning him. bloody and dripping, He launched himself at the death eater holding Hermione at wand point, biting the arm as his hand grapples the wooden stick and snaps it like a twig. 

There’s shouting, fumbling. Harry’s teeth sunk into tender flesh and without a thought, he rips out the death eater’s throat. The other death eater is on the floor, moaning and writhing in his burnt skin—red and black and cracking. Hermione thrashes in her own shackles. “Harry! Help me! I can’t—“ 

He whirled around, expecting another attack—spots dance in front of him and before he understands what’s happening, he’s throwing up at her feet. 

** 

Hermione scuttled back from the pool of sick, doing her best not to add to it. Resolutely, she avoided looking at the two death eaters on the ground behind Harry. Yanking again at the chains and manacles, she growled as tears of frustration and fear blurred her vision. Dark, clawed hands reached for and gripped her wrists. For a moment, she panicked, jerking back and away before realizing it was Harry. 

“I can’t get them off,” she gasped, her breath short and shaking as she fought to breathe through her mouth and not her nose. Her nose was stuffing up anyway, but that didn’t make the taste of burnt flesh any more pleasant against the back of her tongue. “Does one of them have a wand.” 

“No,” Harry panted. “Mine’s broke. The other… don’t think it survived the fire. Just… hold on, a sec,” he managed, closing his eyes. “Don’t feel good.” 

“We’ve got to get out of here.” 

“Know,” he muttered, forcing another breath into his pained chest and he fought to find his magic. But pain and vertigo swam up over him and washed his concentration away. “I can’t. Can’t focus. Need to focus. Need to… Open,” he growled again, yanking at the manacle. 

Hermione yelped as she lost her balance for a moment and stumbled to re-center herself. “What are you trying to do?” 

“Need to open,” he repeated, shaking her wrist. 

“I know, but they didn’t melt, and without a wand…” she pointed out a little desperate. There was no key slot or bolt latch like on a muggle manacle. These were strictly magical, which meant you needed magic to release them. 

Growling, Harry wrapped the chain around his hand before hugging onto Hermione and yanking. The chain rattled against the wall. Seeing what he was trying to do, Hermione squirmed against him. “Hold on,” she ordered, reaching out to touch the chain a foot or two away from where he was grasping it. A few seconds later, the metal started to glow, slowly getting brighter with each passing second. 

“Now!” Hermione shouted, yanking her hands away just before Harry yanked again. They went tumbling over as the super-heated metal gave away under the pressure. The death eater they landed on cried out in renewed pain as they scrambled back to their feet. Harry managing to drag his claws into the man’s neck as they got up, promising the man’s death for certain. 

“Are you good to walk?” Hermione asked as they stumbled away from the wall that had held them. 

“No, but lead on, I’ll follow,” Harry promised, forcing one leg in front of the other. 

“I don’t know where we are,” she continued in a whisper as she led them forward towards where the two men had come from. There had to be a door somewhere. “But the one mentioned the Notts.” 

“The Notts are a death eater family,” Harry confirmed. 

“That’s what I thought.” She found the door the others must have come through. Leaning against the wall, she looked back at Harry, visually scanning him. In his hybrid form it was difficult to say how wounded he might be, but she remembered how he’d looked before he’d transformed and knew he couldn’t be anywhere near well enough to battle their way out. 

“If we can find a working floo, we might be able to escape faster than if we look for an exit and then try to apperate away,” she suggested. 

Glowing green eyes slit opened. “You know how to determine if a fireplace is connected to the floo or not?” 

“It was just a suggestion,” she responded furiously, determined to look up the answer once they were out of here and back at Hogwarts. 

“Need powder,” he reminded her, leaning back against the cool wall, resting his aching head against the cold stone. “Let’s try. Check as we try and get out. Kitchen, you think?” 

“As opposed to a parlor or foyer?” 

“Should have a kitchen garden. Door to the outside,” he pointed out. 

“Grimauld had its kitchen fire connected to the floo,” she allowed. 

“Floo to headquarters,” Harry agreed. “Or Three Broomsticks.” 

“Not the Leaky Cauldron or Ministry?” 

“Closer to Hogwarts,” Harry explained. “Madame Pomphrey.” 

That made sense, Hermione thought. Harry would trust Madame Pomphrey over anyone Saint Mungo’s had to offer, even if they were certified Healers. “Same if we make it outside. Grimauld or Three Broomsticks,” she told him, searching his face to see if he was up to this. 

He wasn’t. Neither really was she, but they didn’t have a choice. He reached out and took her hand, gave it a little squeeze. “Love you.” 

Her chest constricted, and she had to swallow, but she offered him a little smiling twitch of the lips—all she could muster—before saying it back. “Love you, too. Get safe.” 

“You, too. Both of you,” Harry told her, staring at her as intently as his concussed hybrid self could. 

Which was actually pretty intense, all things considered. 

She reached for the door, as ready as she could be to fight her way towards freedom. 

** 

It seemed the house was empty. Empty or asleep. Either way, luck seemed to be on their side as the door they went through led into a cold cellar before leading into a dry pantry. She paused, looking back at Harry to make sure he was still with her, before cracking open the next door and peeking into the room beyond. 

The kitchen, she thought, though it lacked any of the modern day conventions she’d grown up expecting to see in a kitchen. Opening the door wider for her to see more into the room, she started to slip through when she saw them. 

Too late to duck back, she froze, staring wide-eyed. 

“Gemma,” the young man at the table said gently, giving good eye contact to the young girl at the table with him. “Do you think you might be able to get back to sleep now?” 

“I think so, Teddy,” the girl answered, making to stand up. “I’ll just—“ she started, reaching for the two mugs. 

“I’ll take care of it,” he told her. “It’s fine. You should go and try and get some more sleep. You, Olivia, and mamere have a big day shopping tomorrow. You don’t want to be tired before you even begin, do you?” 

The girl leapt forward, wrapping her thin arms around his neck and squeezing. He hugged her back, eyes trained on the pantry door. “I love you Teddy. I wish daddy wasn’t so mean to you.” 

“It’ll be all right, I’ve told you,” he murmured. “Do not worry about me.” 

“But he shouldn’t hurt you!” the little girl continued to protest. “You should tell Harry Potter. He’d save you, just like he’ll save us all from the Dark Lord!” 

“Hush, Gemma,” he said more sharply. “Don’t ever say such things where our father and uncles might hear you. Ever.” She looked down, chastised but still angry. “And I have told you not to believe in your story books. Harry Potter is merely a person, like you and I.” 

“But you’ve met him,” the girl continued. 

“You know I have. I’ve told you before he’s in the same year as I at Hogwarts, and so I can tell you as my own witness.” 

The girl sighed. “I wish I were at Hogwarts this year instead of next. Then I might have met him, too, and I could ask him to help us.” 

“Enough, Gemma,” he told her firmly. “It’s better to be able to help yourself then be helpless and need rely on someone else. That is why you must study hard when you get to Hogwarts and learn everything you can. So that you will not need anyone to save you, ever. So that you can be brave and strong and save yourself if and when it’s necessary. Now, enough of this talk. It’s past late, and we’ve finished our cups of warm milk, so to bed with you.” 

He lightly swatted her backside to scoot her on her way, though she would protest. He remained at the table for several minutes more until he was mostly sure she had had enough time to make it to her room and back into bed. 

“It should be clear now,” he spoke finally to the empty room. 

Hermione waited another moment before cautiously reopening the pantry door. “Nott.” 

“Granger,” he returned, eyes flittering behind her and widening. His hand tightened against the wand held in clear view on the table. “I would ask what you are doing in my family’s home, but I fear I can surmise the answer on my own. The wards extend for some distance outside. There’s floo powder in the jar on the mantel,” he nodded towards the kitchen hearth. There was another floo connection—the main one for the house—upstairs, but he didn’t think they needed to know that. Honestly, the sooner they were out of his own, the better for his step-mother and sisters. “It shouldn’t be locked from out-going travel, but if it is, the password is ‘Canutus’.” 

“Like the Danish king,” Hermione murmured. 

Theodore’s lips twitched. Leave it to the witch to make such a connection. “If that will be all…” he moved to stand, faltering when the creature behind her shifted as well. He forced himself to remain stoic as he collected the mugs his sister and he had used, moving them to the sink for their elf to take care of in the morning. 

“Actually, our wands,” Hermione started, hesitantly. 

Brown eyes swept over her before moving back towards her face for proprieties’ sake. The young woman was most definitely in her night dress, and by no means could one even begin to misconstrue the nature of her being brought here. He forced himself to look at the creature behind her. A large, sleek, feline creature. If it wasn’t so terrifying with bloodied fangs, he might have said the creature was something of beauty and majesty… 

Before his eyes, there was a rippling of magic, and the creature began to shrink. Those bright green eyes became less feline, more human, and in an instant, Theodore knew who his uncle and cousins had captured and brought into his home. “Accio Hermione Granger’s wand. Accio Harry Potter’s wand,” he summoned. 

There was a clattering from the other room, and then a carry case came floating over to him. He directed the case over to the table, and then using his wand tip, he flicked the case open and tipped it over. Several wands tumbled out. He stepped away again, allow the other two clear access to their wands. 

Hermione rushed forward first. Harry was slower to follow and, Theo realized, hurt rather badly. 

“Potter,” he called as the two reclaimed their wands and began making their way towards the hearth. “Understand, my father will not protect me like Draco’s. After Hogwarts, I will not have a choice.” 

“There’s always a choice.” 

“Not while my sisters are still underage,” Theodore said sadly. “There is no choice for me. No go. Get out of here before someone wakes up and discovers you still here.” He turned smartly and left the room, not waiting around to see if they would heed his advice or not. 

Hermione and Harry wasted another moment to watch him leave, and then she darted towards the fireplace and the mantel with its jar of precious floo powder. “You first,” she insisted, shoving some powder into his shaking hands. 

“I’m no good with flooing. You should go first,” Harry tried, but Hermione was having none of it. 

“We’ll leave together,” she determined, grabbing him and dragging him into the fire with her before throwing down the powder and shouting, “Headquarters!” 

Upon reflection, flooing with a concussed person was probably not the best idea. But they made it home, safe if not sound. 

 

*********  
Still to more to come… Chapter 29 – Holiday Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Yea. Not sure what happened to the summer. And now it's already a month into the new school year. Good news is Nanowrimo's next month... right?


	29. Reunion at Grimauld Place

 

29 – Reunion at Grimauld Place–

 

~THEN~  

 

Hermione rushed toward the table with its pile of wands first. Harry was slower to follow and, Theo realized, hurt rather badly.

 

“Potter,” he called as the two reclaimed their wands and began making their way towards the hearth.  “Understand, my father will not protect me like Draco’s.  After Hogwarts, I will not have a choice.”

 

“There’s always a choice.”

 

“Not while my sisters are still underage,” Theodore said sadly. “There is no choice for me. Now go. Get out of here before someone wakes up and discovers you still here.” He turned smartly and left the room, not waiting around to see if they would heed his advice or not. Not wanting to be caught aiding those his family deemed enemy.

 

Hermione and Harry wasted another moment to watch him leave, and then she darted towards the fireplace and the mantel with its jar of precious floo powder. “You first,” she insisted, shoving some powder into his shaking hands.

 

“I’m no good with flooing. You should go first,” Harry tried, but Hermione was having none of it.

 

“We’ll leave together,” she determined, grabbing him and dragging him into the fire with her before throwing down the powder and shouting, “Headquarters!”

 

Upon reflection, flooing with a concussed person was probably not the best idea. But they made it home, safe if not sound.

 

 

 

~NOW~

 

 

_\- Friday, December 12, Grimauld Place-_

 

 

Hermione and Harry tumbled out of the floo and onto the floor in a bloody mess. Literally.

 

“Help!” Hermione shouted, scrambling to turn Harry back over and lay him out flat on the floor. He was unconscious again, covered in sick and blood. His face had lost all color, save for the blood stains, and he looked dead. Tears and snot streaming down her face, Hermione screamed for help again.

 

Two pops sounded almost simultaneously as both Kreacher and Dobby heard her calls.  The older elf glared at the pair of them, watching distastefully as the younger elf bounced and pranced around them.

 

“Oh, Master Harry and Mistress Hermione!” Dobby squeaked. “You’s is not being in good health! You’s being hurt, badly hurt!”

 

“We need help, Dobby,” Hermione panted. “Please!”

 

Wringing his hands, Dobby looked nigh on inconsolable. “Dobby wants to help, but Dobby is not knowing how! Dobby’s magic is no good with healing, Mistress! But Dobby is knowing of someone who may help! Dobby be right back!”

 

With a snap, Dobby had latched onto Kreacher’s skinny wrist and disappeared again, leaving Hermione alone in Grimauld’s kitchen with Harry’s motionless body.  Frantic, she shoved her fingers into his throat, searching for a pulse.

 

There—his chest was rising, just minutely, but rising and falling. And, yes, the big vein was still pumping, slowly, sluggishly. She scanned up and down his form, wondering where she should even start. Despite the scrapes having two boys for best friends had provided, Hermione wasn’t all that interested in healing. She knew enough to seal up a cut, ice a bruise, wrap a sprain, numb an area… sure. Basic first aid treatment. She’d learned how to do those things even before she’d left for Hogwarts.  But this… the reality in front of her, it was so much more than what she knew to do.

 

Dobby and Kreacher reappeared a moment later with a third elf Hermione recognized.

 

“Winky!” Hermione gasped, snapping the little creature out of her stupor. “Can you help us? Harry’s hurt badly!”

 

Large, tennis-ball-like eyes blinked at her, as if taking in the scene before her, and then Winky turned and repeatedly smacked Dobby.  “This is why you taking Winky from her bed? You’s be needing a people healer, not an elf!”  She turned back to the witch and wizard, frowning.

 

“You’s be needing to be off the floor. Not right, not proper.” She turned towards Kreacher. “Put Harry Potter to bed. Then we’s be needing lots of hot water and clean towels.” She cast a gamely eye towards their surroundings. “This being your home? There be clean linens?”

 

Kreacher seemed to swell under her scrutiny. “There being clean things.”

 

“Good,” Winky nodded and turned away from him towards Dobby.

 

“Dobby can be getting water and clean things!” the elf said excitedly, but Winky denied him.

 

“Dobby be going to get a proper healer. A wizard healer,” she told him sternly.

 

“Madame Pompfrey, if you can,” Hermione interjected before the elf could vanish. “She’s the only one Harry really trusts.”

 

Dobby nodded his understanding. “Needs bring Kreacher along. He’s the only one who could bring someone through the wards without Master Harry Potter sir’s permission.”

 

“Firsts to bed,” Winky dictated. “Then with you to Hogwarts. Needs be quick. Why Harry Potter not in bed yet?” she demanded of the older elf.

 

Slouching, Kreacher shuffled over to Harry, reaching out a hand, he touched him with no more than a finger before popping away.

 

“Where did they go?” Hermione demanded, scrambling to her feet.

 

“They being in the master’s chambers,” Winky explained as another figure wandered into the kitchen.

 

“What all is going on?” Remus Lupin asked, still a bit muddle-headed from his earlier dose of pre-moon Wolfsbane. He was yawning when the thick scent of blood rolled across his tongue, sharpening his muddied senses.  He saw the cooling puddle of blood on the floor before one of the elves vanished it with a snap, saw the sorry state of Hermione—her bloody and tear-streaked face, the stained and ripped night dress, her wild and matted mane—and knew Harry had to be worse.

 

“Where’s Harry? Are you all right? How did you get here? Where are you parents?” he demanded in a rush all before Kreacher had returned.  Dobby grabbed Kreacher and popped back out before Remus could demand more answers.

 

“Harry Potter being in the master’s chambers,” Winky repeated.  “Dobby and Kreacher be getting the school healer now. We’s be getting things ready and helping. You be helping, too. Up, upstairs, to master’s chambers,” the little elf directed just like a little general.

 

Remus, now awake and alert, turned to head back upstairs to the master bedroom on the second floor. Kreacher had been slowly aiding in continuing to clean up the old townhouse, but Remus hadn’t been in the Master bedroom since he had released Buckbeak nearly a year and a half ago now. He hoped it was cleaned and clear, especially if a hurt Harry was in there now.

 

Taking the three flights of stairs from basement to the second floor at a run winded them all, although he had a slight advantage over Hermione as he wasn’t injured yet—that would come with the moon this weekend, for sure.  Winky popped ahead of them, waiting impatiently at each landing for the humans to join her. On the second floor, Remus went for the door of the master bedroom, not even knocking, propriety thrown to the wind in concern for his pup.

 

Inside, the room was clean and Spartan, all furniture removed after the hippogriff had been relocated; it was bare but for a large bed that had been replaced at some point, but at least it was clean.  Hermione pushed past him to get to the bed’s occupant.  Remus knew a new, special relationship had budded between the head boy and head girl, of course.  There had been some strange happenings going on with Harry these past months since he’d been in Hogwarts, and although he didn’t know the full extent of the situation, both teens had seen fit to write him and seek out his opinions—but knowing something special had sprung up between the two and seeing it was a bit of a difference.

 

A possible romantic relationship between any potential female and Harry had been something Sirius would joke and tease about during late nights and boring afternoons, trapped in this house with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Remus hadn’t wanted to encourage the old dog, but even he could privately admit to himself, he’d hoped for something to happen between two of his favorite students.  If Harry wasn’t so obviously hurt, he might have said something.

 

Two pops sounded behind him, and Remus whirled around to see Kreacher and the other elf.

 

“Hogwartsy’s medi-witch be coming here. Headmaster, too, be on his way,” the younger elf said, bouncing forward. “You’s wanting water and towels now?”

 

“And a table,” Winky demanded. “Why’s there being no proper fixings?” She asked, glaring at Kreacher again. “This being the Black Family’s master chambers, be it not?”

 

“It is,” Kreacher grumbled. “There’s being my noble family’s new head of house.”

 

“Then you’s best be fitting this room up proper-like!” the diminutive elf snapped before turning to Dobby. “Where’s water? Towels? Table?”

 

Both elves popped away again. There was a shout from downstairs. Remus went back to the door to call down.

 

“Up here! We’re on the second floor!”  Turning back towards the bed, he saw Hermione and the little elf talking softly and working to clean the dirt and blood from Harry’s body. At some point one or the other must have vanished Harry’s ruined night clothes because he was now naked, save for a towel thrown over his pelvis for modesty.

 

“You seem to know a lot of what needs to be done, Winky,” Hermione was saying.

 

“Winky’s mistress was often sickly,” the elf shared. “Winky was often charged with helping the healers who visited. Winky is no healer, but Winky can help.”

 

“Thank you for help, Winky. I really appreciate it, and I know Harry does, too.” She returned her cloth to the bowl of water and continued cleaning off a patch of raw looking skin along Harry’s torso. “I’m glad to see you looking much healthier and happier.”

 

“Winky is still missing her family,” the elf confessed. “But Harry Potter has been helping. He gives Winky special chores to do. It keeps Winky busy.”

 

“Harry really appreciates your help, and I do, too. We couldn’t have done nearly half as much these past months without your organizational skills. You really helped us get things done.”

 

“What’s happened now?” Madame Pomphrey demanded as soon as she cleared the door, red-cheeked with a slight sheen to her brow.  Dumbledore was not far behind her.

 

“Death eaters,” Hermione answered. “They attacked my parents’ house. My parents!” she shouted, turning panicked eyes towards Dumbledore and Remus.

 

“I’ll have someone from the order stop by there now and collect them,” the headmaster placated.

 

“I’ll grab Tonks and go myself,” Remus promised. “We’ll be back with you parents as soon as possible.”

 

As he turned and disappeared out of the room without even a by-your-leave from the headmaster, the medi-witch had pushed right up to the bed and begun her scans, waving her wand like a world-class maestro conducting a symphony of healing spells. “I’ll need potions. Best contact Severus, Albus. I’m going to need some of these fresh.”

 

“Of course,” he agreed, summoning his phoenix patronus to send the request off.  “Now, you say death eaters attacked your family’s home?” he asked Hermione. “How many? Did you recognize any names or faces?”

 

“Nott,” she replied. “There were about six that I counted. One of them had to be Nott Sr, because that’s where they took us.” She bit her lip, wondering if she should share the details of their escape. “We woke up in the cellars, fought two more off, and escaped out the floo. We came here and called for help.”

 

“You did good, my dear,” the headmaster praised.  “Remus will be back with your parents, and even now Professor Snape is on his way to help, as well.  This is important, Ms. Granger—did Harry use his other form, his Vanteerian form, at all?”

 

Madame Pomphrey looked back at him, wide-eyed, before turning back to her main patient, grumbling under her breath of troublesome people who didn’t bother to tell her important details. A rap on the door distracted all but the medi-witch, who continued right on smearing creams and globs of goop over Harry.

 

“Severus, come in, come in,” the headmaster entreated.

 

“You summoned?” the sallow man drawled.

 

“I need some potions, Severus,” Madame Pomphrey called out, garnering his attention, which had already swept through the near empty room and the occupants there-in.  “Specially tailored to Mr. Potter’s needs. I’m assuming you know what those are?”

 

“Of course,” the man soured. “Whatever Mr. Potter needs.”  Dark eyes flitted over Hermione’s form as well.  “Shall I assume Ms. Granger is in need of no healing potions?”

 

That caught Madame Pomphrey’s attention away from her main patient.

 

“I’m fine,” Hermione snapped, more worried about Harry as the medi-witch turned her wand onto the young woman. 

 

“Some bumps and bruises,” she confirmed.

 

“Really,” Hermione insisted, “I can wait. Please, take care of Harry. He’s the one with a broken leg and bad knock to his head.”

 

“If only it would do to knock some sense into his skull,” Severus muttered, earning a reproachful look from the headmaster and a glare from the young woman. The medi-witch was long use to his sarcasm and didn’t mind him in the least. Unless he was trying to turn it on her when she was treating him. Then he was likely to get quite an earful in return. 

 

“He’ll need a skelo-grow to properly fix his leg—it’s a compound fracture, so I’ve gone ahead and removed the bones and fragments,” Madame Pomphrey expounded. “He also fractured his arm and several of his ribs. Those I’ve reset, but a bit of skelo-grow would help those heal along faster. There’s a bit of internal bruising—he took quite some hard knocks from what I can tell—and he’s managed to crack his skull again.  Not even a professional quidditch player gets into as much trouble as this young man!”

 

The medi-witch recorked two jars and set them, with a sharp clink of glass, on the little side table that had appeared at some point. “I’ve applied some burn paste and bruise salve, but he’s showing an adverse reaction. He’ll need a modified formula, apparently.  You are aware of his special circumstances?” she inquired, shooting a questioning eye towards Severus.

 

“I am,” the potions master confirmed.

 

The medi-witch pursed her lips—another person who knew more about her patient’s needs than she did. “Then if you would, Severus?”

 

He nodded his understanding, looking towards Dumbledore, a questioning flicker of a glance between Hermione and Harry, as if wandering if the headmaster would share the details of what had happened. The headmaster deemed to ignore his silent inquiry, and with little disgruntlement, Severus took his leave.  He would use the potions station set up downstairs. It was decent enough for the current needs.

 

“You were telling us if Mr. Potter’s other form was seen by the death eaters?” Dumbledore reminded Hermione.

 

Hermione leaned against the mattress as Madame Pomphrey approached her. “None that survived, sir.”

 

“You’re sure?” he asked intently.

 

She nodded, holding her arms out for the medi-witch to tend.  “Harry didn’t transform until after we were captured,” Hermione detailed. “Both the death eaters who saw us then are dead.”

 

“I’m so sorry, my dear,” the headmaster expressed frowning soulfully. There was a commotion from downstairs, followed shortly by a loud wailing and screaming. Winky looked up from her fussing with the bed linens around Harry, looked up towards the medi-witch who was finishing up wrapping Hermione’s arms with bandages, covering the burns and scrapes she’d smeared with her healing creams. 

 

Hermione pulled away from the healer and rushed for the door, nearly tripping her way down the stairs and down to the ground floor.  Even from a floor above, Hermione could make out the words of the screaming portrait.

 

“Filth! Scum! Riffraff from the streets! Here! In my home! The home great and noble Black Family, besmirched by filthy muggles! That I should live to see the day—“

 

“But you aren’t alive,” Tonks’s voice ripped through the portrait’s caterwauling. “You’re dead. Just like all the rest of your elk.  All your going on about blood purity, and where’s it gotten you and yours? Dead! All dead! You despicable curmudgeon.”

 

“How dare you! You’re not even worthy to be in this home! I demand you leave at once! Kreacher! Kreacher! Where are you, you lousy elf! Show yourself and once and remove this vermin!”

 

“It’s not your house anymore,” Hermione growled, turning out of the stairwell. “And Kreacher is no longer your elf to command.”

 

“The mudblood whore,” Walburga Black sneered.  “Are you here to service the beast the same as that half-blood scum?”

 

“No. I’m here because my mate is here,” Hermione snapped back before pausing. “Although, come to think of it… Remus, if Harry’s now Lord Black thanks to Sirius, does that make me Lady Black?”

 

“Well, once you’ve bonded,” Remus supposed. “Yes, it would.”

 

“Ha!” Tonks laughed at the portrait. “Looks like the new Lady Black is a muggle-born!”

 

The portrait wailed and screamed all manner of curses and profanities at them. Cowering near the door, Mr. and Mrs. Granger covered their ears, wincing. Remus wasn’t doing much better with his pre-moon heightened senses.  Tonks, meanwhile, was attempting to out-shout her dead great-aunt, adding to the cacophony.

 

Hermione surpassed her boiling point.

 

The gas lamps illuminating the hallway burst, fire leaping up the walls, crackling and singing the ancient wallpaper as it homed in on the portrait, peeling and melting the gilt of the frame before reaching the oil saturated canvas.  The portrait’s screams turned from angry banshee to terror-induced panic as the paint bubbling and dripped away before the canvas darkened and then turned to ash.

 

Tonks stopped shouting, staring in shock.  Remus stepped up beside her, watching in fascination as the portrait burned away. Mr. and Mrs. Granger remained huddled in the corner, not sure at all as to what was happening, where they were, what was happening.

 

The portrait had resorted to begging and pleading with intermingled curses and shouts. It stopped moving completely once half the head was destroyed.  Dumbledore and Madame Pomphrey rounded the corner as the last eighth of the canvas burned to ash and the flames wisped away into smoke.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” the mediwitch demanded. “Ms. Granger! You should be resting right now, not traipsing up and down stairs! You’ve just been through an attack, used up quite a bit of magic, and now you’re wasting more! Look at you!” she scolded, waving her wand over the young woman and frowning over the results.  “it’s a wonder you’re even still standing! You should be in bed, resting! Not to mention it’s the middle of the night! You all should be in bed!  And who are you?”

 

She turned her wand towards the two people she didn’t know, eyeing them warily.

 

“My parents, Madame Pomphrey,” Hermione rushed in. “Mom, Dad, this is our school nurse, Madame Pomphrey. Are you hurt at all?”

 

“Are we hurt?” her mother parroted. “Are we hurt? Hermione Jean Granger!  Our home and family was attacked tonight.  You shoved us in a shed—locked us in!—and took off to fight our attackers! You were kidnapped, right from our home! What the hell is going on!”

 

A flash of spell fire smashed into the muggle woman’s chest and all the tension in her seemed to melt away. The others turned to see Tonks slipping her wand back away.  “Had to cast several calming charms on your dad to get him to come with us once we got them free of the shed—nice bit of protective work there, by the way,” the auror was saying. “But your mum was holding up pretty well till now. It’s probably best if they get some sleep before carrying on this conversation, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed, stepping up, calmly repairing the lamps along the hallway. “It is late, and I’m sure our mediwitch would agree that we should all be in our beds, resting.”

 

“Quite right,” the witch nodded. “Especially you, Ms. Granger. You’ve exerted quite a bit of magic this evening. I’m sure there are some rooms made up for you—Winky?” she called.

 

“Yes, Madame Poppy,” the little elf appeared with a curtsy.

 

“Will you—“ she started before frowning, casting her eye at those around her.  “Where are we, exactly? Whose house is this?”

 

Several voices spoke at once, overlapping answers.  After a pause, folks looking back and forth at each other, Remus continued.  “It’s Harry’s, now,” Remus said. “It used to be belong to Sirius, before he died. Although, I tend to be the one who stays here the most often, and it is used by… others, from time to time.”

 

“I see, well then, Remus, Ms. Granger, with your leave, may I have Winky prepare some rooms for your parents and you?”

 

“Oh, of course!” Hermione blinked.  “Um, yes. Uh, Remus, are you still in the middle bedroom on the third floor?” At his nod, she continued, “Then perhaps the third floor front bedroom would be best, Winky, if you would?”

 

The little elf bobbled and disappeared in a wink.

 

“Tonks, are you staying?”

 

“If it’s not a bother?” the bubblegum haired woman responded, cutting a look towards Remus.

 

Hermione didn’t spare her much of another glance, turning on to the next member of the little group. “Headmaster, thank you for your concern.  I’m sure Harry will want to talk to you tomorrow when he’s awake and better.”

 

The old man’s beard seemed to twitch as he settled his clasped hands above it. “Ah, of course. The lady of the house has spoken,” he said turning towards the mediwitch, “and I believe we should all be making our ways back to our beds…”

 

“Madame Pomphrey,” Hermione called as the witch turned away as the headmaster began to lead her off.  “You are more than welcomed to stay?”

 

“I’d best be sticking close to the hospital wing. There are still some students in the school after all,” she reminded the head girl. “You’ll both be fine with a bit of rest and the medicines Professor Snape is mixing up for you. You’re both very lucky, and he is the best.”

 

“Yes, a man of many talents,” the headmaster praised.

 

A shadow moved, catching both Hermione’s and Remus’s hyper-aware attention.  “Yes,” she concurred, “and we are grateful to benefit from his talents.  If that is all, Headmaster, I would like to see my parents to bed and then check on Harry again.”

 

“And get some rest of your own,” Pomphrey admonished.

 

“Of course, of course, my dear. Until tomorrow, rest well,” the headmaster entreated, moving to continuing guiding the medi-witch back down to the kitchen floo. He came flush abreast the potion’s master.  “Ah, Severus! Already finished?”

 

“With the salve—it was an easy adjustment,” the dour man informed him.

 

“Fine work, fine work indeed,” Dumbledore beamed happily at him. “Poppy and I were just returning to Hogwarts. Will you be joining us, then?”

 

If anything, Severus frowned deeper. “Unlikely, Headmaster. The skelo-grow still needs tending before it will be ready to administer.”

 

“Ah, well, of course. We shan’t keep you any longer then, Severus. Goodnight,” he called before he and Pomphrey disappeared. An awkward silence of everyone waiting for someone else to do or say something descended, broken only when Mrs. Granger yawned.

 

“I’ll just help get your parents settled upstairs,” Tonks said, reaching out to take the older woman’s arm and guide her through. “Remus? You coming?”

 

The werewolf cleared his throat and quickly followed suit, murmuring his own goodnights and see you in the mornings.  And suddenly the potions master and head girl were the only ones left in the entry hallway, the acrid smell of burnt oil and canvas still permeating the air.

 

Dark eyes flitted to the now empty wall, flickering with a measure of – surprise? Amusement? –she wasn’t sure what, before he turned that dark, boding attention back to her.  “Your handy work, I presume?” he drawled. 

 

She also glanced towards the wall, frowning. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m usually much better contained.”

 

“The Order has been trying for nearly three years to remove that portrait, and you mean to stand there and tell me you did so in a fit of accident magic?”  He sounded crossed somewhere between incredulous and sneering disbelief.

 

Hermione’s pride pricked, she bristled. “Not just some ‘fit’,” she challenged, raising a palm and calling forth her own special brand of magic.  No, it wasn’t so much calling forth… it was more like relaxing a tightly clenched muscle… Just relax, exhale, and the flames flickered to life, dancing merrily in her palm, around her fingers.  She’d been practicing her control of the fire with Neville, who’s affinity for plants was quite similar to her own newly discovered talents.  She was much better controlled, especially compared to last year, but she still wasn’t great. It really was more impulsive than any premeditated control, especially on a larger scale.

 

She frowned, thinking of the Death Eater in the Nott’s cellar.  “It was Nott,” she told him.  “Nott and five others came to my house and attacked.”

 

If he was surprised at the information, he didn’t show it.

 

“Harry and I had just put up some protective wards this evening,” she continued, woodenly, practically numb. “If we had even waited a day, we might all be dead right now. The alarm woke us up. We got my parents. The doors and windows were all locked. We couldn’t get out. Harry made a hole in the wall, and we got out that way. I hid my parents in the shed, and then joined Harry fighting them off. We were surrounded.  They took us. Woke up in a cellar. One of the death eaters was there, taunting us. Harry was hurt so badly, and I… I lost my temper.  He burned. Harry managed to break free of his chains, and then we got me loose. Another death eater came. Harry—killed him. We followed the way out of the cellar. Wound up in the kitchen. Nott was there. Our Nott, the one in Slytherin, Theo? He and his sister were in the kitchen. She didn’t see us, but he did. Sent his sister to bed and then he helped us escape. Said… he said, his father wouldn’t protect him like Malfoy’s, that he didn’t have a choice because of his sisters.” She looked up at him.  “We came here and called for help.”

 

Severus’s lips had narrowed into a thin pressed line. “Which you should have done from the very get go,” he admonished, although there was very little bite to it.  “Two children had no business facing off against six death eaters. You’re lucky to be alive and in as healthy a condition as you are.”

 

“Harry was hurt so badly.”

 

“And yet he will survive, yet again. He excels at surviving.”

 

“He shouldn’t have to just survive,” Hermione snapped back.

 

Severus bit down on his immediate reaction—to snap back at the girl. “You have had a difficult night. This cream needs be applied to Mr. Potter’s wounds, and before that, I need check his compress.”

 

“I killed a man tonight,” Hermione confessed. “At least one man, many more. I’m not sure, but definitely one.”

 

“He would have happily returned the favor, or worse.”

 

“I know. He told me they were going to give me to the wolves.” She studied his face intently.  “Is it true, what he said? Have they been experimenting breeding lycanthropes during the full moon?”

 

Severus grimaced.  “Yes. It is one of many experiments the Dark Lord is exploring.”

 

“He said, the man I killed, he said the first—batch—didn’t survive, that the wolves ate them, but the second group survived.”

 

 “Yes.”

 

“Why isn’t the Order or Ministry doing something about this?”

 

“The Ministry is still operating on denial of a great many things,” Severus sneered. “As for the Order, knowing something is occurring does not mean you can just wave your wand and prevent it. The Dark Lord has taken note of his enemies’ tactics. He’s covered several of his homes of ill portend with fidelius charms. The Order has been unsuccessful in breaking or circumventing the charm, due in large part to the fact the secret keepers are often imprisoned and never to be seen again. It is entirely too likely that would have been your fate if you had not escaped on your own.”

 

“Harry still has nightmares, visions,” she shared. “He tries to hide it, but I can tell.  Neville has been helping him, I think since as early as last year even.  I know he’s talked to Professor Dumbledore about them. Why hasn’t he been able to do something?”

 

“If Potter had learned how to properly close his mind—“

 

“He can’t!” she defended. “You know that now! You know what he is, I know you do.” Hermione glared at him.  “Vanteerians are naturally empathic. It’s part of their charm. He would have never been able to completely close off his mind, and especially not like how you tried to teach him. It’s what makes these nightmares and visions of his even worse.”

 

Severus continued to frown. It was as she said—as a naturally empathic creature, it would be even harder for Potter to completely close off his mind…but not impossible. It was also true that the boy was still having his vision dreams. He had been present on several occasions when Potter had shared tale of his latest nighttime foray with the headmaster. Dumbledore, however, had demanded Harry’s promise and vow that he would not attempt to go off on his own—or with only his friends—to try and rescue anyone.

 

The truth was, even Harry didn’t have any concrete clues of where the houses were.  The visions, which he insisted were so real and detailed while he experienced them, were little more than flimsy dreams when he awoke and tried to retell them.  Some details were horrifyingly clear, but now that Severus reflected, those details were ones more closely associated with emotions. That would make sense. Pain and fear, lust and pleasure… they were powerful emotions and would leave an impression on an empath, even after waking.

 

He was tired—awoken in the middle of the night by Dumbledore’s patroneus, called away to headquarters, only to discover Potter had been in another tangle. And the skelo-grow would need tending in another half-hour. He’d lost his chance to even grab a quick nap beforehand, and here he was wasting more time with the annoying chit of a head girl. A perpetual thorn in his side since her first year, along with Potter. 

 

He marveled at his own forthcoming and candidness with the girl. Why was he even squandering his time here in this unappealing hallway responding to Hermione?  He owed her no answers, no supplitudes. They were at war. People were injured and killed all the time. Prisoners were tortured in despicable manners. And he had the pleasure of being the spy who sat the Spanish donkey.  He shivered, uncomforted by the image of being severed up the middle by the real medieval device.

 

Remembering the jar in his pocket, and his purpose for leaving the potions labs downstairs, he turned towards the stairs, not really caring if she followed or not. After a moment, she did. Not that he was surprised. They traipsed up the two flights of stairs in blessed silence. He knocked briefly for proprieties sake on the master chamber’s door, and he was only momentarily surprised when it opened.

 

“I was just checking on him,” Remus murmured as he held the door for them. “The vinegar rinse on the compresses is almost dry,” he added as Severus waved his wand to release the bandages.

 

“That’s fine. I’m ready to apply the salve now,” he murmured, inspecting the various spell burns and bruise sites. Some were already beginning to color spectacularly. “Mister Potter has developed a sodium allergy that renders the normal formula more of a hindrance than aid. This formula leaves the salt out and so shouldn’t irritate his skin so much as it heals.”

 

Severus finished unwrapping the various bandages and unscrewed the jar’s lid. Scooping up a generous portion of the goo, he smeared the jelly-like substance over the worse looking burn along his ribcage. Hermione stepped up to the bed, reached over Harry and scooped up some gel as well, turning to smear it over the larger bruise beginning to spread along his shoulder and upper arm.  They worked in silent tandem, covering all of the various burns and bruises. By the time they’d reached the last ones, the first ones they’d worked on already looked days better.

 

At some point, Remus had left them. Neither was sure when.

 

The jar in Severus’s hands was more than half-empty. He would need to make more salve before morning—not that it was a difficult ointment to concoct. He watched as the girl summoned the bandages back over Potter’s open wounds and fractured bones. Skelo-grow would help the later, soon enough, but first…

 

He cleared his throat, gendering the girl’s attention once again. “Do you have any bruises you are incapable of handling on your own?”

 

She stared at him, incomprehensibly at first. He fought of his own discomfort as one long accustomed while he waited.  Then her cheeks suffused with color.

 

“Oh, no. Thank you, professor,” she murmured, almost meekly. “I will be fine.”

 

He nodded, setting the jar down on the night table next to the bed. “This can be reapplied in six hours. I will have more made so that you will have it on hand in case of any future need. It should not spoil if used within a year or two, and knowing Potter’s propensity for trouble, I would predict you needing more before the change of the season.”

 

“Most likely,” Hermione agreed, a sardonic little smile teasing her lips.  “Thank you, professor. Sincerely, thank you for helping us.”

 

Severus shifted uncomfortably.  “It is an easy enough mixture. One anyone could make.” He paused. “I would suggest perhaps yourself or Miss Lovegood, and not Mr. Longbottom.”

 

Hermione’s laugh was more a huff of breath.  “Plants interact differently with Neville. He really can’t help it, but yes.  Luna and I will handle any potions we need. Blaise and Hannah don’t care much for the subtler art of potion makes,” she teased back, smiling, but obviously exhausted.

 

Severus didn’t let his surprise show. He would have had to been completely blind—not to mention worthless as a spy—not to have realized that Longbottom and Abbott were more intimately involved with Potter than what the rest of the school was led to believe. But Zabini’s involvement was beyond unexpected.  When had the notorious slut of Slytherin—yes, he knew of the name though he didn’t approve or condone it—joined Potter’s little harem? It couldn’t have been very long ago.

 

"Professor," she called before he could escape out the door with his wandering thoughts. "Will you help Nott?"

 

Severus could feel his muscles tightened—that helplessness. He hated admitting to it even more.  "There is little I can do for him. He told you-His father will not protect him or his younger sisters. "

 

"There is nothing you can do?” she asked. “That doesn't seem fair."

 

"War is not fair, Miss Granger,” he told her. “Many are made its victims. The Notts are no different. He and his sisters will be lucky to survive this war intake, especially if it becomes known he helped you. I trust you are intelligent enough not to share that bit of information with anyone. Anyone, Miss Granger, not even the headmaster.”

 

Hermione frowned but nodded. And with that, he was gone.

 

****&****

 

 

The next morning Hermione awoke sore and achy. Her head was muddled, and her brain was mush. As she moved to sit up she realized she had fallen asleep slumped over the bed and not actually lying down. It appeared Harry hadn’t moved at all during the night, but he looked worlds better than he had when they’d arrived at Grimauld Place.

 

She stretched out her stiff joints and muscles, eyed the bruise cream Snape had left longingly, and then turned her attention back to Harry.  She checked under his various bandages, noting how most of the bumps and bruises seemed to have melted away—all save the more grievous—his shoulder, his ribs, and his leg, which was still supported in a splint. The leg would need the support of a splint even after the skelo-grow was administered, she remembered reading, to support the deflated limb sans bone as it regrew.  

 

She was slightly worried that he didn’t wake up at all during her inspection and reapplication of the bruise cream. She hesitated to rub what little remained of the cream into her own sore spots—which were more numerous this morning than she remembered them being. She was still in her dirty night gown—ripped and torn from the eventful night before. 

 

Grimacing, she was about to cast a refreshening charm on the garment when she noticed a familiar travel case tucked beside the dresser—had there been a dresser in the room the night before? She didn’t remember.  Checking her case, she found it empty, so she checked inside the dresser next. There she found the clothes Harry had packed for the holidays as well as a majority of her own clothes. How had they got there?

 

Deciding not to worry about it at the moment, Hermione selected a change of clothes and hastily slipped into the bathroom. Grimauld had no attached bathrooms, although there was one actual bathing room and toilet on each floor save the basement and attic. It made some sense, although she wondered why the Blacks didn’t expand the townhouse more using wizarding space.  She didn’t let the thoughts distract her long. Especially not once she settled into the warm bath water.

 

She could have happily stayed in the warm water for the remainder of the day…until her stomach made its protests known. Groaning, regretfully, she applied the bruise cream and dressed to face the world. She wasn’t sure what time it was yet, but that didn’t matter. Food was the next point of order, she thought, making her way down to the kitchen.

 

They would need to send word to the others, she thought. One, to make sure they were all safe; two, to warn them all; and three, to reassure them that both harry and she were safe.  Hedwig could have been sent to Neville and Luna, but she had remained at the castle. No one had an exact location for Hannah—she was supposed to contact them—and Blaise was on the continent with his mother.  She supposed she could send a letter internationally, if she rented an owl from Diagon Ally. She could probably just floo Neville or Luna and talk to them.

 

Scents met her nose before she’d even cleared the first floor, and she was salivating by the time she turned onto the ground floor to make her way down to the kitchen.  Inside Remus and Tonks were at the kitchen table; he reading the paper and nursing a cup of tea, studiously ignoring her; she quite happily devouring a piled plateful of kippers swimming in butter with a side helping of black pudding and toast.   Also on the table were platters of rashers, eggs, more kippers and black pudding, what looked like crumpets, a basket of muffins and sweet buns, and grapefruit, of all things. 

 

Slightly stunned at the spread, Hermione slide into a seat at the table with a murmur of good morning.

 

“Morning, Hermione!” Tonks chirped back.  “I’d ask if you’d been in to see Harry yet, but as I understand it, you never left,” the older woman tried to tease.

 

“He’s still asleep,” Hermione confirmed. “Professor Snape was working on some skelo-grow, but I don’t know if he finished it yet.”

 

“Not yet,” Remus answered. “I checked in on him a little while ago. He suggested that it will be ready in another hour.”

 

“What time is it, anyway?” she asked, setting herself up a plate. “I didn’t even check.”

 

“It’s early yet. Just going on half seven.”

 

Tonks made a frantic noise, shoveling more of the kippers in her mouth and snatching up her toast and pudding. “I’ve got to go,” she sputtered, leaning over and dropping a kiss on Remus’s cheek before clambering out of her seat. “Catch you later, Hermione. Give my best to Harry!” she called before throwing some floo powder into the fire place and whisking away to the Ministry.

 

Hermione shot Remus a questioning look.  “She’s scheduled to be on duty today,” he explained, reaching over to begin cleaning up her dishes.

 

Before he could, though, the dishes disappeared, right out of his hands. From across the kitchen, movement as the dishes began to clean themselves caught Hermione’s attention, and she realized Winky was still at Grimauld Place.

 

“Winky!” she exclaimed, surprised to actually see the elf looking better than ever.

 

The elf cowered back instinctively but turned to face their direction, even if she didn’t look up at either Hermione or Remus.  “Yes, Miss Hermione? Is you be wanting something different for your breakfast? Winky can be making near anything you want?”

 

“Winky was kind enough to make breakfast for us this morning,” Remus informed Hermione.  “I told her she didn’t have to, but she wanted to. And it was all quite good, best breakfast I’ve had in months,” he praised, causing the little elf’s cheeks to darken.

 

“Winky, thank you for your help last night,” Hermione started. “And for breakfast this morning. I’m quite hungry and it was a welcomed surprised to find breakfast ready when I came down, but—“

 

“Winky also be getting Kreacher to tend proper care,” the little elf cut in. “Be outfitting noble house of Black as befitting a house of the twenty-eight. And be sending Dobby off to fetch Mister Harry’s and Miss Hermione’s things, she did.  Dobby be fetching Miss Hermione’s mother’s and father’s things now. Next, we be properly cleaning Mister Harry Potter’s house! Meals be served properly in dining room, not kitchen.”

 

Hermione shot a pleading questioning look towards Remus. What was she supposed to say to the elf? The Order had stopped using Grimauld Place as headquarters last year, but it was still used as an occasional stop over or safe place, so it wasn’t like Winky was a security threat—especially with the Crouches, her old family, being dead and her belonging to Hogwarts now.  But there was that. Winky was a Hogwarts’ elf.  Still, there was no denying it was useful to have help—but not slave help!

 

She had learned more about the nature of house elves, but the idea of slave labor soured her stomach.  

 

“Let it be for now,” Remus suggests. “There are other things to worry about.”

 

Hermione blinked and then refocused. “Yes, there is,” she agreed before grinning. “But first, what exactly is happening between you and Tonks?”

 

Remus coughed into his tea.

 

“I only ask because of Harry, you understand,” Hermione put forth. “Well, and because I’m curious, too. But we, that is to say, Ginny and I, had suspected something might have been brewing between the two of you years ago, but then nothing seemed to come of it. And, well, based on some things Harry said this year, I know he was kind of hoping the two of you might try and make a go of it. He might never say anything to you about it, but I know he thinks of you as part of his family, and he only wants you to be happy. And, well…”

 

Hermione trailed off, having realized she’d been rambling, and looked expectantly at her former professor, well aware that he could easily tell her to mind her own business, but still rather helpful for a fun piece of lighthearted and happy news.  

 

Remus was torn between embarrassment of having his personal life brought to the discussion with a girl who had once been his student—one of his best and brightest, but still a student—and more than a little bemusement. After all, it wasn’t often one saw Hermione Granger initiate what really could be construed as gossip.  He took a sip of his tea and decided to answer as obliquely as allowed. 

 

“Yes, well, Tonks can be… quite persuasive and forceful in her opinions,” he explained. “Let’s leave it at we are currently content with our current arrangement.  But what of you and Harry?” he countered, a gentle smile teasing his lips.  “It seems there have been some changes in your relationship as well.”

 

Hermione blinked, so used to her wizarding life knowing and accepting that she and Harry were an item that it was surprising to realize she’d never really said anything to Remus in her letters to him about her relationship with Harry having changed, and now she wondered if Harry hadn’t said anything, either. But then again, their relationship was prompted because of Harry’s inheritance, so that was as good a place to start.

 

“Yes, there has, hasn’t there?  Well, it’s really sort of complicated, and yet not really at all.” She took a bit of her plated breakfast before continuing. “You remember how we were asking all those questions about the different inheritances of the Potters and Blacks?” she started.

 

“Yes, back towards the beginning of the school year,” Remus nodded thoughtfully.  “I figured one of your classmates had experienced a more unusual inheritance and you, and thus Harry, became curious as to what might have popped up in his own bloodline. But, Hermione, unusual inheritances are just that now and days—unusual.  Tonks has one of the more common Black Family powers with her metamophmagi abilities, but… those types of talents and abilities are just not common anymore, and Harry didn’t seem to display any special talents after his birthday this summer, so...”

 

Remus shrugged.  “It did make me curious, though, as to who it was.”

 

“Harry.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Hermione set her fork and knife down, only half finished with her breakfast.  “You see, Harry did come into an inheritance over the summer, only it wasn’t an instantaneous transformation of any form. In fact, he didn’t even really suspect anything until after school had started. We realized it had to be something like a creature inheritance, but of course, we didn’t know really anything of the Potter Family’s traits and secrets, which is why we asked you.

 

“Neville was the one who really explained to us that each of the older families have their secrets—but that it’s not really a secret because all of the families are so intertwined, and in fact, most of the secrets are considered more legends now and treated more like children’s fairy tales than part of our cultural history. But it was actually Luna who helped us identify what Harry is.”

 

Remus waited still, surprised that his cub had inherited a special family ability on his birthday and he hadn’t known about it.  He hadn’t sensed anything really different about his cub this summer, had he? Wouldn’t he have noticed if Harry’s magic had changed to incorporate a creature inheritance?

 

“How much do you know about vanteerians?” she asked after another moment.

 

“Vanteeraans,” Remus repeated. “As in a vanteera?”

 

“Yes,” she confirmed, picking her fork and knife back up to resume eating.  “Everything we’ve discovered thus far seems to fit pretty well closely.”

 

“Except for the fact that a true vanteera has been considered extinct by most all magi-cryptozoologists for over two thousand years,” Remus countered.

 

“And yet, it’s Harry,” Hermione returned, finishing her breakfast and pushing the plate away. “Everything we’ve found out about them fits near perfectly with what we’re experiencing with Harry now.”

 

Remus frowned, studying her closely before asking, “You keep saying ‘we’, but you don’t mean just you and Harry, do you?”

 

Hermione’s cheeks suffused with color.  “No, not just Harry and me.  As I said, Neville and Luna helped, but so did Hannah, and now there’s Blaise, too.”

 

“Hannah Abbott?” Remus searched his memory for the correct student’s face. Hufflepuff girl, he remembered. Friend with Amelia Bone’s girl, well, niece.  And…Blaise… There was a Ravenclaw sixth year, but she would have graduated during Harry’s fourth year. The only other Blaise he remembered was a quiet Slytherin boy in their year. The famous Black Widow’s only child… “And Blaise Zabini?”

 

“Yes, well, it appears that a vanteera is a pack creature and keeps a circle of companions, like a… a harem,” she whispered the last, looking steadfastly at the plates and platters still sitting in the center of the table.

 

Remus blinked, taking in that bit of news. Randomly, he wondered what James or Sirius might have had to say to the idea of Harry having a harem… “I don’t remember a whole lot about Vanteerians, but I do recall coming across a book up in the library.  I had thought it odd,” he recalled. “You don’t usually find an entire book dedicated to just one thought-to-be-extinct being, but of course, the Vanteerians were always one of the special beings. Shall we go try to find it?”

 

“Please,” Hermione replied eagerly, already standing up.  Grinning, Remus led the way.

 

“Vanteerians are often credited with being the precursor to most of our modern day magical beings, including witches and wizards,” Remus went on, slipping easily into his professor voice.  “Although some would argue that they are merely a branch of magical felines, usually a panther, I believe.”

 

“Leopard,” Hermione gently corrected. “They’re not easy to see, especially in low light, but there’s a definite rosette patterning of spots.”

 

“Really? Fascinating. And the wings? Are they feathered? I’d wondered, but never found an answer in anything I’d read. I remember something about them being likened to fallen celestial beings, fallen angels, so I imagined the wings to be great big feathered wings, almost like a hippogriff’s.”

 

“No, definitely not angel wings,” Hermione smiled. “If anything, they’re more like a demon’s wings. No, they’re more bat-like, I think. Like a skin membrane stretched over a delicate skeleton frame. Black and covered with black fur, not completely, though. It’s more like a dusting of fur, if you catch my meaning?”

 

“Hn, so no feathers,” Remus grunted, facing the various titles in front of them, searching for a likely-looking tome that contained the information they were looking for. He pulled several off the shelf, studying their covers for a moment before replacing them.  “So what else is it that has you convinced Harry’s a vanteera and not just a shadow cat or some other?”

 

“Well, for one, he’s empathic,” Hermione began in her own clinically professional voice, “and highly protective of those he’s claimed as members of his pard—that’s what we call his family circle. While he can eat regular food, it doesn’t really sustain him as well as a good orgasm.  In fact, he can often get sick from eating certain food. It took us a bit to figure out it was the sodium used to season some of the foods, which is why Professor Snape has to make Harry’s potions specially.  We haven’t tested it yet, but it’s been theorized he could potentially survive off of sexual intercourse alone.

 

“There’s the winged feline transformation—it’s not a controllable transformation for him. Not completely anyway, although he’s getting better at it, it’s still mostly instinctual. I also suspect there’s been some changes to his magic. It… it feels different, sometimes. His eye-sight has been giving him trouble. He doesn’t want the others to know, but I’ve noticed him rubbing at his eyes or staring intently at things that aren’t there.

 

“One of the books we found suggested that he would have the lifespan of an elf, but there’s no way to really test that.  And while I find him attractive, I don’t know if I would say he has the beauty of a Veela.”

 

“That’s okay. You can be beautiful enough for both of us,” Harry rasped from the doorway.

 

“Harry!” Hermione and Remus both shouted, but it was Hermione who raced to his side and helped support his weight as he settled onto the settee.  “What are you doing out of bed? You shouldn’t even be standing, or haven’t you realized you don’t have a bone in your leg right now!”

 

“It’s all right,” he mumbled, grapping at her hand and pulling her back down with him when she would have stepped away. “Splinted stiff. Didn’t put much weight on it. Didn’t come back. Missed you,” he finished, pushing his face into her side.

 

Hermione huffed but resettled herself with his head in her lap as she finger-combed his hair. “You really shouldn’t be up. You were hurt really badly, Harry. You need to let your body rest.”

 

“Rest just fine here.” A blurry eye peered open and focused on the room’s other occupant.  “Sorry to crash in on you like this, Remus.”

 

“It’s your house,” the older man reminded him.

 

“But it’s your home,” Harry countered. “It’ll never be mine. My needs are a bit more than this old house can handle.”

 

“So it seems.” Remus watched bemused as Harry seemed to nuzzle against Hermione’s thigh. And was that… purring? He thought he heard as she continued to stroke his hair. “Not so much a pup anymore, I suppose. Sirius would be laughing up a storm right now at James’s expense.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You’re a leopard, and predator,” Remus tried to expain. “Sirius often teased your father about being a stag, a prey animal…right up until your dad would threaten to shikabob him on one of his antlers.”  

 

“Sirius was a canine, but he wasn’t a very good predator,” Harry mused. At seeing Remus’s sad and hurt look, he explained. “We’re survivors, you and I. We’re still here. It’s not about being predator or prey. It’s about surviving to live another day.”

 

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” Remus allowed, offering out the slim bound book he’d found. “This is a narrative written by Ibt al-Jauzā, an ancestor of the Black family. You know the translation spell?”

 

“One better,” Hermione countered, eagerly taking up the book. Withdrawing her wand, she traced the tip over each cover. “Librum scriptum,” she chanted, naming the item as a book of written words. “Replicare vinctum.”

 

The slim little book seemed to divide in half, pulling away from itself until two exact copies existed where one once was.  Hermione repeated the process two more times before returning the original back to Remus with a murmur of thanks.

 

“I hadn’t heard of that spell before,” he admitted, returning the book to its place on the shelf.  “We’d always been told you couldn’t copy bound books.”

 

“Only books printed after a certain time period,” Hermione shared.  “There’s a counter copying charm within most of the inks used today, not to mention runes embossed on certain pages and covers. Most of the older books, though—especially if they were hand written—can be copied.”

 

“Luna taught you that,” Harry smiled, still sounding mostly out of it.

 

“Yes, she did.” Hermione shot an amused look towards Remus. “Not before I tried to argue her the impossibility of it.  She’s always turned the impossible on its ear.”

 

“That’s Luna for you. She should be here. Don’t like her or the others being so far away.”

 

“I know. I’m not actually happy with it, either. But Hedwig isn’t here to send a post, and I don’t know her’s or Neville’s floo off the top of my head. I have it written down in my bag, but that’s back at the house.”

 

“Winky be sending Dobby to collect Miss Hermione’s and Mister Harry’s things,” said elf announced as she popped in with a service try filled with tea fixings and crumpets. “Anything Miss Hermione be needing, we be getting. Meanwhile, both Miss Hermione and Mr. Harry needs be eating something.”

 

“Thank you, Winky, I’ve already had breakfast, but I’ll make sure Harry eats something.”

 

“Not before Mr. Potter has taken his medicine, I hope,” a sour voice drawled from the doorway. “I would hate for my hard work to end up on the floor because your lack of control.”

 

“No lacking control, Snape,” Harry purred drowsily, green eyes glittering. “Merely sharing. I can do that. Sometimes. Do you know Luna’s or Neville’s floo address?”

 

“As neither student is in Slytherin house, it is not my concern to know where they hole themselves off to during school holidays. And even if I did, that information is private and personal, so I would not be sharing it with the likes of you.”

 

“Blaise’s address then.”

 

“My answer remains the same, Potter. Why are you even out of bed?”

 

“Thank you!” Hermione crowed.

 

“Don’t like sleeping alone. The dreams come, can’t block them. Don’t like what I see. Feel. He’s pissed. Someone said they had me, but they don’t. There’s going to be hell to pay.”

 

“If you had learnt occlumancy you wouldn’t have those dreams.”

 

“If you had actually bothered to teach me how,” Harry mumbled with a sleepy glare, “I might have learned. Then again, I mightn’t’ve. Too late to know now.”

 

Severus bit back his retort, hand clenched around the vial he had spent hours concocting for the brat laid out before him, tempted to through the vial in the fireplace and make the boy go without. As if anticipating the potion master’s thoughts, Remus spoke up.

 

“Is that the skelo-grow you’ve been working on all night?”

 

“Obviously it’s not wit-sharpening potion, not that it would do any good on present company.”

 

“Mmn, Hermione any smarter is just plain scary thought,” Harry slurred. “Is that for me?”

 

“Is there someone else present who is currently missing part of their skeleton of whom I’m unaware?”

 

“Talk too much,” the young man complained. “Simple yes would’ve been good. Gah, hate skelo-grow. Don’t know why couldn’t’ve just reset the bone. It would’ve healed.”

 

“Harry, you had a serious compound fracture,” Hermione admonished. “Even magic would’ve taken a lot to completely heal all the damage. Madame Pomphrey removed all the bone fragments so she could heal the tissue in your leg. After the bone has grown back, she’ll no doubt have to reattach all the tendons and ligaments. Everything will probably be tight and stiff for a while.”

 

Harry grimaced. “Will have to restart training all over from the beginning.”

 

“Better than having no leg at all,” she snapped at him.  “Sit up and drink your potion. Then you can have some of the breakfast Winky made for us.”

 

“Not hungry, really,” he sulked, obediently sitting up with help and reaching out for the potion Snape was still clenching.

 

“That is a full dose,” the dour man told him, finally relinquishing the vial. “You must drink all of it.”

 

“What happens if I miss a drop?” he asked cheekily.

 

“Don’t.”

 

With a mocking cheer, Harry threw back the entire contents with a bitter-faced rictus, gasping when the last of it cleared the vial and was swallowed back.  “Water,” he gasped.

 

“How ‘bout some tea?” Remus offered sympathetically. “And maybe a bit of toast.”

 

“Why can’t you ever make any good tasting potions, or at least something half-way decent that doesn’t leave me wanting to scrape my tongue off?”

 

“Have you seen what goes into most potions, Potter? Besides, stop encumbering yourself in precarious situations that require the medicinal remedy of such potions, and you would not be inconvenienced by their unappealing taste.”

 

But the potion had already begun to work. It would take more than a full day for the leg bone to properly regrow and fortify—all things considered, it was not a fast acting potion, nor was it painless, and Severus did not envy the boy his day ahead. While it might not be quite as torturous as the cruciartis, it was its own flavor of torture.  Severus retrieved the vial before Potter could drop it—the quality ones weren’t necessarily cheap, after all. 

 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he began, making his retreat.

 

“Stay.”

 

The simple but forceful command steeled his movement as effectively as a leg locker or petrificus curse. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, blood pumping, heart rate racing, as he fought to break his body’s reaction, fought to regain control of his legs and leave as swiftly as humanly possible.

 

“Potter,” he growled lowly, immensely grateful that his voice sounded normal and didn’t hint at all to the panic he was truly experiencing. “I have been up most the night, no thanks to you. I would like to return to Hogwarts now, and perhaps rest.”  Return, and rest, and down another dose of his inhibitor potion. If Potter was affecting him now… He didn’t want to know what it would be like come March or April.  He would need to increase his dosage.

 

“Eat something before you go,” Harry entreated, and though his eyes were glazed with sleep and pain, his voice sounded clearer and controlled. “You were, after all, up all night because of me. The least I can do is feed you.”

 

His knees quivered, but thankfully his long robes hid their unsteadiness; his gut clenched, but no one could see; his eyes started to flutter, but he quickly squeezed them shut, hands curled into balled fists at his sides. It was unfair. It wasn’t right. It had been years since a student had come into an inheritance that affected him—let alone affect him so strongly.  That it was Potter now was just another lash of the whip to his already frayed skin.

 

“A cup of tea, professor?” Hermione entreated. “Winky made some crumpets if nothing else sounds appealing.”

 

Internally, he struggled to say no, to call her a foolish, meddlesome child, to turn away and leave. That’s what he wanted to do. But when he opened his mouth to say just that, he found himself acquiescing instead. And just like that, his movement was freed. Growling under his breath, Severus settled into the other armchair, away from Potter and his cohort.

 

Sleep would be hours away, he knew. Once he was safely away and back in his dungeons he would begin looking into how to enhance his own inhibitor potion. There was no way he was going to allow himself to become the plaything and pawn of some seventeen-year-old brat. Let alone the spawn of James Potter. He refused.

 

 

 

 

*********

Still to come…

 

 

 

 


	30. Picking Up the Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pard slowly adjusts--or not--to being separated: Hannah in the Netherlands; Blaise, Luna, and Neville in Italy; Harry and Hermione in England.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempting hover text html coding for the Italian translations. Not that I don't think you're intelligent folks who could figure out Blaise's endearments (or use Google translate, like I tend to do) but mostly because it's something new I heard about and want to give it a try myself. ;) "Try" being the pivotal word there...

30 – Picking Up the Pieces– 

~THEN~ 

“How much do you know about vanteerians?” Hermione asked after another moment. 

“Vanteeraans,” Remus repeated. “As in a vanteera?”

 

A blurry eye peered open and focused on the room’s other occupant. “Sorry to crash in on you like this, Remus.” 

“It’s your house,” the older man reminded him. 

“But it’s your home,” Harry countered. “It’ll never be mine. My needs are a bit more than this old house can handle.” 

 

“Harry still has nightmares, visions,” Hermione shared. “He tries to hide it, but I can tell. Neville has been helping him, I think since as early as last year even. I know he’s talked to Professor Dumbledore about them. Why hasn’t he been able to do something?” 

Snape scowled. “If Potter had learned how to properly close his mind—“ 

“He can’t!” she defended. “You know that now! You know what he is, I know you do.” Hermione glared at him. “Vanteerians are naturally empathic. It’s part of their charm. He would have never been able to completely close off his mind, and especially not like how you tried to teach him. It’s what makes these nightmares and visions of his even worse.”

 

“It was Nott… Nott was there. Our Nott, the one in Slytherin, Theo? He and his sister were in the kitchen. She didn’t see us, but he did. Sent his sister to bed and then he helped us escape. Said… he said, his father wouldn’t protect him like Malfoy’s, that he didn’t have a choice because of his sisters.” She looked up at him. “We came here and called for help.” 

Severus’s lips had narrowed into a thin pressed line. “Which you should have done from the very get go,” he admonished.

"Will you help Nott?"

Severus could feel his muscles tightened—that helplessness. He hated admitting to it even more. "There is little I can do for him. He told you-His father will not protect him or his younger sisters. "

"There is nothing you can do?” she asked. “That doesn't seem fair."

"War is not fair, Miss Granger,” he told her. “Many are made its victims. The Notts are no different. He and his sisters will be lucky to survive this war intake, especially if it becomes known he helped you.” 

~NOW~

 

\- Friday, December 12, Bones Manor, Netherlands- 

 

Hannah sighed, putting her quill down and sealing the envelop. Three other missives lay set aside, waiting for her to collect them and take them out to the owlery. Susan had two owls that roosted here. She’d agreed to allow Hannah to borrow both. One would make its way to the Mediterranean and Blaise’s home. The other would take Luna’s, Neville’s, and Hermione and Harry’s letters back to Brittan. She had spent the evening and a good part of this morning writing to her pard mates, assuring them she was safely tucked behind manor wards, and that she was fine despite missing them. 

And she missed them, quite dreadfully. Almost embarrassingly so. Surely she was a strong enough independent witch to be able to spend more than a few hours apart from her mates. They were all off having a lovely holiday, enjoying themselves with their families. She should be doing the same, enjoying spending the holiday with her best friend. 

Only… 

She hurried off to the owlery, sending the letters on their way before she could talk herself into adding a postscript, begging one or the others to allow her to join them. It was so hard… difficult… being so lonely. 

Of course, there was Susan, but Susan was still angry with her this morning—not that she had any right to be angry with her. It was her life, damn it! Her body! If she wanted to start a family with her mates right out of Hogwarts, that was their choice! Susan would just have to get over whatever her problem was, and Hannah knew she would, eventually. She hoped. 

Still…

She missed the pard. She missed cuddling with Luna, snuggling with Neville. 

Curling up on the pretty settee in her chambers, cocooned in the thick blanket, staring at the fire crackling away in the fireplace wasn’t as fun or relaxing without one or more of the others. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and she missed them with a hollow-chested ache. Were the others feeling the lack? The achy pull of being apart? Or were they all off having so much fun they didn’t even stop to think about her?

She was tempted to spend the rest of the morning and all afternoon moping. She very well might have, too, if Susan didn’t knock on the chamber door. 

“Can I come in?” the redhead asked tentatively. 

“It’s your manor,” Hannah replied negligently. 

“Don’t be like that,” Susan entreated, stepping into the room. “I don’t want us to fight, really I don’t. You’re my best friend, Hannah, and I don’t want to think I’ll lose you, too.” 

“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here, aren’t?” 

“But you don’t want to be here,” the redhead perceived, hesitating an extra moment—as if gauging her welcome on the sofa—before sinking into the other corner, tugging a corner of the blanket free so she could wiggle underneath. 

“It’s not that I’m jealous,” she went on, looking off into the fire herself. It was easier sometimes to talk to a person without looking at them; easier to bare yourself. Even between best friends. “At least, I don’t think I am. Sure, I was a little hurt and put out that you seemed to disappear all the time this year, but I thought I understood. I mean, how many years had we talked about how sweet and cute and misunderstood Harry was? The tragic hero, dark and mysterious? And how we’d like to one day take away that hurt, lost look in his eyes? I got it. I really thought I did.

“And then it went around that you were dating Neville. I had to hear from rumor, mind you. You didn’t even tell me what was happening—but I got that, too. More even, because really, who didn’t expect Harry to match up with Hermione or Ginny at some point? And we’ve both talked about how sweet and cute and hardworking Neville is…Why wasn’t he sorted into Hufflepuff when he’s clearly ‘Puff material? And how well he’s grown up? And more, Neville’s always seemed more approachable and attainable than Harry. Really, I got you going with Neville. 

“But even if it was turning into something serious, something lifetime…” Susan broke off and shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t get being willing to commit yourself to a lifetime of something just yet, being trapped into a choice you made… And a baby… That’s a lifetime commitment. You’re going to always be someone’s mum. And frankly, the idea of that for myself, scares me. That I don’t get right now.” 

“You don’t have to get it,” Hannah responded evenly. “It’s my choice, not yours.” 

“I know.” Susan exhaled. “I don’t want to lose you over this, Neh-neh,” she continued, using an old nickname. “I don’t get it, but it’s your choice, and I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ll support you and your choice.” 

“I love you, Susan,” the blonde whispered, crawling through the blankets to curl up between and around her friend. 

“Love you, too, Neh-neh.” She dropped a sweet little kiss onto the other girl’s forehead and cuddled her close. “Love you, too.” 

*** 

It took a bit of convincing and babying, but eventually Hermione got Harry back into his freshly made bed with some judicious assistance from Remus. Returning to the family parlor, they discovered the potions professor had made good of their absence to escape and Winky had already been and gone, cleaning up their tea. Hermione picked up the book Remus had found for her before their earlier disruption. 

“So,” Remus started before Hermione could do more than pick up the book. “Harry’s a vanteera.” 

“Yes.” 

“Who all knows?” 

“Well, we, the pard members, of course---myself, Hannah, Luna, Neville, and Blaise. I believe Harry has discussed parts of it with Professor Dumbledore, and now Madame Pomphrey and Professor Snape. There might be a professor or two who have also figured it out, but that should be all. It’s not like we wanted the whole wizarding world knowing our business, and if there’s any way something can be used against Harry— “ 

“No, no, that’s good. It’s good to keep things like this quiet. There are always some who would try to use a creature inheritance as a crux against you,” Remus said sadly. “And you, Hermione? How have you been holding up in all of this?” 

“I’m doing what I can. Right now, everything’s a little—well, things are uncomfortable now. I’d really feel better if everyone was all together, but it’s the holidays, and everyone wanted to spend time with their families, too, but… Hannah’s off somewhere with Susan Bones, and we don’t know where. She’s supposed to contact us, or at least Neville, since he has a floo and we don’t. I mean, my parents don’t, so of course she couldn’t have contacted Harry and myself before, to let us know she arrived safely and is all right. But then there’s Luna, who is visiting her father, and Neville is with his grandmother, and Blaise is with his mother at his family home in Italy. And I know they should all be safe, but… I don’t know. Seeing is believing?” 

“Then we should make those floo calls now,” Remus suggested, always willing to help problem solve. “You said you had the addresses in your bags? Why wait? It’s a decent enough time of morning to make calls, and if the house is not awake yet, you can always just leave a message.”

“Do you really think it’s not too early?” 

“It’s almost gone eight. Plenty of time.” 

And with that, Hermione rushed back up the stairs. At first, she went to the bedroom she had occupied years ago with Ginny, but of course it was empty of all save the bare fixings. “Where are my things?” she huffed, looking around her at the empty room. 

But then she remembered even before the little elf had popped in to answer. “They’s be putting Miss Hermione’s things in with Mr. Harry’s, in the Master’s suite,” Winky answered. “Is yous be needing something? Winky can get it.” 

“Thank you, Winky,” Hermione called, already darting back out of the room and up the next flight of stairs. She rounded the landing and swung back into the master bedroom. Harry was snoring softly, blessedly asleep while his body continued to heal itself. She called herself all kinds of foolish for not having remembered to retrieve the parchment with the other’s floo addresses written on it earlier when she had put Harry back to bed. It would have saved her a trip, but what’s done was done, she reminded herself. She skimmed the paper to make sure it was what she thought it was, and once satisficed, she left the room to go back downstairs again, this time at a slightly less reckless pace. 

Remus was waiting for her down in the kitchen with the floo powder ready. “We never bothered to hook up the floo in the parlor,” he apologized, but she wasn’t bothered. 

Taking a pinch, she tossed the fine glittery powder into the dancing flames, watching them turn shades of green. “The Rookery,” she called out clearly, waiting an extra moment just to be sure the connection was made, and then she stuck her head into the green flames. She wasn’t sure what she expected—she experienced the dizzying spin of the floo as it stretched between two locations, but she was also highly aware of her body and presence in the kitchen of Number 12. 

“Hello?” she called out. “Good morning! Luna? Are you awake yet?” 

She waited, listening, but no one responded. Worryingly, Hermione wondered if she had done something wrong. She pulled back her head after several moments of calling out and waiting for a response. She looked at Remus. “I guess no one was home.” 

She bit her lip. 

“You can always try back later. Maybe they’re out for a morning stroll,” he suggested. But it wasn’t very believable. 

She tried Longbottom Manor next, with mixed results. This time when she stuck her head into the green flames, she was met with a house elf’s greeting. 

“Hello,” Hermione greeted. “I’m looking for Neville, please.” 

“Master Neville’s not here,” the little elf whispered confidentially. “Left last night with Master’s guests.” 

“Neville had guests? Who? Was it Luna? Or maybe Blaise?” she asked before clarifying, “Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini?” 

The elf nodded. “Is you being Miss Hannah or Miss Hermaniny?” 

“I’m Hermione,” she corrected gently, well used to people mispronouncing her name correctly at first (and sometimes even second or third). “Do you mean to say that Hannah hasn’t checked in yet?” 

“No, I’s to be taking Miss Hannah’s or Miss Hermynee’s call or Mr Harry Potter’s call and letting them know Master Neville has gone with his guests.” 

“Do you know where they went if they’re not here?” 

“They’s be going to Master Neville’s guest’s house.” 

“Not the Rookery,” Hermione countered. “I just flooed there and no one answered. So, did they go with Blaise to Italy, then?” 

The elf nodded sadly. “Master Neville is very far from home.” 

“And Blaise is too far away to call by floo,” Hermione thought aloud. “Darn. Thank you—I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?” 

“Fagus, miss.” 

“Thank you, Fagus. If Neville calls or returns before I reach him, will you please give him a message for me?” 

“Of course!” 

“Please let him know that Harry and I are at the old place for a bit. My parents’ home was attacked and we couldn’t stay there. Harry and I are both safe, though we were hurt a bit. We’re recovering, and hope to see everyone again soon.” 

“Fagus will be delivering you message just as soon as Master Neville returns.” 

“Thank you again, Fagus. Have a good day,” Hermione called, pulling back once more from the floo flames. 

“Neville’s with Luna and Blaise,” she announced brushing floo dust from her hair and hands. “They were all together at Longbottom manor last night, but they left. According to the elf I talked to, they went to Blaise’s home, which is in Italy. I can’t just make a floo call to Italy, can I?” she asked, finally looking up at her former professor.

“No, no you can’t,” Remus agreed. “For one, we don’t have the right floo powder to make an international call; and for another, it would be one hell of a distance for your head to travel. I wouldn’t recommend it for even experienced floo travelers.” 

Hermione huffed. “I’ll need to send a letter then.” She pushed herself up off the floor and dusted her slacks off. By the time she’d turned around, there was parchment, an ink well, and a quill ready and waiting on the table. She looked questioningly at Remus, but he looked equally as surprised. “How did these get here?” 

“Winky be getting Miss Hermione’s writing things ready for her,” the elf in question replied from across the room. “Unless you’s be wanting them in the upstairs parlor?” 

“No, this is fine,” Hermione answered, bemused and a bit bewildered. “Winky? Not that I’m not grateful for your assistance, especially last night, and breakfast was a nice surprise to have ready this morning, too, but… why are you still here?” she tried to ask delicately. She didn’t want to hurt the elf’s feelings, and she really was grateful for the assistance, but…. “Shouldn’t you be back at Hogwarts with Dobby? In fact, now that I think about it, how did Dobby even know to come here last night when I called for help?” 

“You being in Mister Harry Potter sir’s home, so Dobby can be hearing you,” Winky answered the last question first. “He be going to where Mister Harry Potter sir being needing him.” 

“I didn’t realize Harry had more than Kreacher bonded to him,” Remus mused. “When did that happen?” 

“Dobby being bonded to Mister Harry Potter sir for many years now,” Winky informed them. “But Mister Harry Potter sir be making Dobby promise not to help him, so Dobby can only help how Mister Harry Potter sir directs,” she added sadly before turning angry. “Kreacher be not having the same problem. He be knowing what a good house elf should do and he be willfully not doing it! He’s been a bad house elf, but now that Winky’s here, she be fixing things and seeing to them proper like!” 

“But why are you here?” Hermione asked again. 

“Miss Hermione be needing Winky’s help,” the elf informed them. “Miss Hermione and Mister Harry Potter sir being here, not at Hogwarts, so Winky being here now, too.” Her big bat ears dropped and she seemed to wilt before their eyes. “Winky couldn’t come before. First you’s being in a house with muggles, and it’s not good for house elves to be seen by good, magic folks. And then, Winky not be knowing you’s and Mister Harry Potter sir being capture by bad wizards!” She alternated between wringing her hands and her large ears as big, fat tears formed in her tennis ball-like eyes. “Winky is sorry! And then, you’s be being behind protection wards that Winky couldn’t pass through without Kreacher’s help, but Winky be here now,” she said, seeming to regain control of herself as she straightened, “and she be fixing things right. Just you see! Winky is a good elf. She knows how to take care of a house and her family proper like!” 

Hermione turned to face Remus. 

“It looks like you’ve been adopted by a house elf,” he told her, with an amused little smile. “Congratulations.” 

“But I don’t want a slave,” she practically wailed. “It’s wrong on so many levels!” 

“You’re looking at it from the wrong perspective,” Remus coached. “You’re thinking about this from a human perspective, but Hermione, house elves aren’t human.” 

“That doesn’t make it right to own them!” 

“Do you own Crookshanks? Does Harry own Hedwig?” 

“They’re animals, pets,” Hermione retorted. “They’re not satiate beings.” 

“Aren’t they though?” Remus returned. “Just because most humans can’t communicate with cats or owls doesn’t mean they aren’t thinking beings with their own unique personalities. They live with us, keep us company, help us in our daily lives, and in return we give them safety and companionship, we feed them and give them a place to live.” 

“So you’re saying a house elf is the same as a pet?” 

“Not exactly the same, but there are similarities, yes.” Remus searched for another analogy. “They’re like a companion race that live alongside wizards, but they have their own unique culture, like goblins, or vela, or vampires.” 

“Or werewolves?” 

“Yes, or werewolves,” Remus allowed with a bit of a self-depreciating smile. “There are cultural differences between your thinking of the house elves as slaves and how the house elves actually see themselves. To many elves, I highly suspect that they see us as the pets, and that it is their duty to take care of us—make sure we have a clean home, food to eat, are happy. Most things good pet owners do, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“But that’s not how most wizards treat their elves.” 

“You’re basing your opinions on a few bad examples,” Remus reprimanded. “Would you condemn owning a dog or cat because some people are horrible to animals? Or would you condemn a whole breed of animals because some are trained to be vicious and mean?” 

“I don’t like it,” Hermione groused, just barely resisting the urge to cross her arms like a petulant toddler. 

“You don’t have to like it,” he told her. “Whether you like it or not, it appears you have been adopted. Unless you want to break that little elf’s heart and ruin her spirit—and quite possibly condemn her to death by forcibly removing her from your family.” 

“Winky has survived on her own before,” she countered. 

“She’s the former Crouch elf, isn’t she? The one Dumbledore took into Hogwarts? Oh, yes, I’ve heard of her story,” Remus nodded sadly. “She was very well near on her way to fading, I was told, until earlier this year. Isn’t she the elf you and Harry used to help organize some of the festivities you put on this year? I’m sure you gave her plenty of chores to do.” 

“I didn’t think it was too much…” Hermione trailed off into thought, giving in to the urge to cross her arms and nibble at her thumb. “You don’t think we were over-working her by asking for her help, do you?” 

“Quite the contrary. I think you gave her purpose. And I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she didn’t bound to you sometime shortly after that.” 

“Is that true, Winky?” Hermione asked, turning to look at the elf who was determinedly not looking back at her. “Did you bound to me and Harry because we asked for your help organizing the Samhain festivities and the other activities these past few months?” 

“Not exactly, Miss Hermione,” the elf answered tentatively, suddenly worried she might be dismissed for not pleasing the young witch. “Winky be knowing Miss Hermione being in a delicate way and be needing help. Winky be knowing Miss Hannah also being needing help. And Mister Harry Potter sir being making a circle, there being powerful magic, and Winky being thinking she can be helping and allowed to be part of Miss Hermione’s family. Winky being good with babies, and she be mighty good at watching little ones. Winky be good for Miss Hermione and her new family, and since Miss Hermione being asking for Winky’s help… Winky be making it so.” 

Hermione’s hand went instinctively to her stomach, still mostly flat as it had always been. Sure, she had a little pouch, but it wasn’t like she was fat or anything of the sort! And it definitely wasn’t noticeable that she was pregnant. Not least of all because her pregnancy was put in stasis at only a few weeks in. She wouldn’t look pregnant for a very many months yet—until after they released the stasis and then she was in her second trimester. But still, it was disconcerting that the little elf even knew that shew as pregnant. Would all the house elves know? That could be troublesome. 

Remus was no slouch, and he was quickly putting dots together for himself as he took in Hermione’s stance and surprised look. Still, he should be sure… it was never safe to just assume something. “Hermione,” he began trying to come up with a delicate way to ask the girl if what he thought the elf was saying was true. “Are you… that is to say, I understand that yours and Harry’s relationship has changed rather dramatically these last few months, but is it possible that you…” 

He ran out of words. Yep. His brain failed him. There really was no delicate way to ask a woman if she was pregnant. Not for the first time, he sincerely wished one of the other marauders were still here so they could be the one blundering through. 

Hermione faltered for a moment. It wasn’t that she was attempting to hide her pregnancy from the other man—Remus was family, through Harry, and she knew he would be one of the people they would be telling anyway, but she really hadn’t been prepared to tell anyone this soon. The unofficial plan had been to announce her pregnancy after they left Hogwarts this summer. But Harry had already changed that. So, no. She wasn’t upset about Remus finding out—

“Technically,” Hermione started, “Yes. Hannah and I are both pregnant. But we asked Madame Pomphrey to perform the stasis charm for us. Neither of us thought it would be a good idea to finish the school year while actively pregnant, although that won’t really be an option for the others. If they go into heat, they go into heat. But Hannah and I are plain old regular witches. We don’t have any creature inheritance to interfere with. 

“But Winky,” she said, returning her attention to the female elf. “You knew. You know I’m pregnant? Can any house elf tell?” she asked, worried about who else might find out such sensitive information that could be used against their family, Harry especially. 

“No, Miss Hermione. Other house elves not being noticing Miss Hermione’s differing magic unless they be around and see for themselves. Miss Hermione be a powerful witch, and her baby be equally as powerful as it grows.” 

“But the baby isn’t growing right now,” Hermione protested. “There’s a stasis spell on it, protecting it.” 

Winky stayed silent, not wanting to contradict her young witch. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t reassure Hermione at all. “Winky,” she started slowly. “Madame Pomphrey put a spell on the baby before we left Hogwarts, so the baby won’t grow until we take the spell off.” 

The elf wrung her hands together in nervous indecision, and then finally she spoke up. “Winky can’t be speaking to what Missy Poppy be doing or not doing, but she can be speaking for surely when she says Miss Hermione’s baby be growing like a proper baby, not stunted like Miss Hannah’s.” 

Two tiny hands clapped over her mouth as a look of horror filled those large tennis-ball eyes. “That’s not to be saying anything be wrong or bad with Miss Hannah’s baby,” the elf babbled. “Just that it not be growing like a proper baby should be. And that being right if, as Miss Hermione says, Missy Poppy be putting a spell on the baby to make it not grow—Oh! Bad Winky! Shouldn’t be saying anything to upset Miss Hermione so!” 

Hermione rushed forward to stop the elf from bashing herself with a rolling pin she had picked up off the counter. “Don’t!” she shouted, causing the elf to freeze. “Please, don’t. I wouldn’t be happy if I thought you were hurting yourself, Winky, especially not if it was because of me. In fact, that would just make it worse. Please don’t hurt yourself.” 

Once it looked like the elf wouldn’t begin beating herself, Hermione turned back to the table—and caught sight of Remus who was merely standing back and watching everything, as if lost in his own thoughts. 

“This doesn’t change the fact we need to get in contact with the others,” Hermione groused, striding over to the table to write her first letter for Neville, Blaise, and Luna and then a second for Hannah. She hoped they were safe—for whatever reason Neville and Luna had decided to leave Britain and join Blaise in Italy, she was almost wishing she and Harry had done the same. At least she knew Hannah was safely outside of the country, but she would have been better content to know their blonde mate was also with the rest of the pard. 

And then she remembered she still had to contend with her parents. 

*** 

Neville woke to a warmer breeze than expected drifted over his naked skin. There was a hint of salt on the air and extra moisture that weighted the air ever so noticeably. Not uncomfortably. He stretched languidly and yawned loudly, not quite managing but nearly succeeding in knocking his fellow bed partners out of the bed. An elbow to the ribs was his punishment and had his eyes popping open right quickly. 

“What’s that for?” he asked sullenly. 

“I don’t much appreciate waking up by being pushed and kicked,” Blaise groused. 

“Not nice indeed,” Luna mused. “He should kiss it and make it better,” she purred, rolling back over and curling up, more than willing to go back to sleep. 

Then Neville sat up, remembering where he was, or… rather, where he wasn’t. “We’re in Italy,” he said, slightly stunned by the idea. 

“Yes,” Blaise murmured. “I know. I grew up here.” 

“No, but, I mean, we’re in a whole other country,” he said, turning in the bed to looking at Blaise and Luna who’d decided to cuddle up together. “We’re not in Britain. I don’t think I’ve ever not been somewhere in Britain before.” 

That caught the other’s attention. “Really?” Blaise asked, more than a little surprised. “But surely you’ve gone on family holidays. I thought all purebloods went on holidays to the continent.” 

“My gran was never really big on traveling too far. Said it wasn’t safe and… and that I was too clumsy to trust to foreign healers,” Neville finished with a flush. 

Luna curled around him and gave him a hug. “So, now that you’re free from your grandmother’s thumb and we have two weeks of holiday, what would you like to do? I’m sure we could go just about any place from here. Where is here, exactly?” 

“Portofino,” Blaise announced proudly. “My father’s from this village. his entire family were all fishermen for generations before magic turned up in my father and some of his brothers and sisters. He purchased this villa for my mother when they were married, and she, in turned, deeded it to me last year.” 

“So, this is actually your own house, that you own?” Neville asked, somewhat surprised. 

“Villa, yes,” Blaise answered. “It’s not like you don’t have your own house.” 

“The manor is more my grandmother’s house than mine, even if I’m set to inherit it. And besides, did you hear her last night? She’s not likely going to release my inheritance anytime soon,” Neville mumbled dejectedly. “I should probably make an appointment with Gringotts before we head back to Hogwarts and make sure she doesn’t try to interfere with any of my investment portfolios that she graciously allowed me access to last year.” He huffed. 

“Wait,” Luna interjected. “Your father was a muggleborn?” 

Blaise and Neville blinked. 

“Not that it should matter,” the dark skinned young man preluded, “but, yes.” 

“Interesting.” 

“Why?” he demanded defensively. “Because I’m a half-blood? Because I’m a Slytherin? I assure I’m not the first or only one.” 

“What?” Luna responded, confused by his train of thought, let alone his seeming hostility. “Because you inherited your mother’s creature blood, and you’re relatively strong, magically speaking. I wonder, have you ever had an inheritance test preformed at Gringotts? Or a full family history record? You said your father’s family had been living here for decades, but I wonder, has anyone looked into your grandmother’s family?” 

Neville’s head dropped onto Blaise’s shoulder. “It’s the Ravenclaw project. You’ve got her started now. Might not be able to distract her. 

“Of course you can distract me, Neville. I’m very easy to distract. In fact, I’m distracted right now by the lovely picture you and Blaise make as you lay naked in each other’s arms. I’m also distracted by the thought of what it might look like and feel like to be laying equally naked between you two. Then there is the thought of what the three of us, lying naked against each other might get up to, so you see—“ 

Blaise didn’t give her more time to continue; instead dragging the blonde in between himself and Neville and proceeding to kiss her into silence. Neville quickly caught own and joined the two in a delightful morning romp. 

** 

A few hours later, Luna emerged from the sparkling green waters of the Mediterranean and climbed up the descending stone steps that led directly into the waters from the patio. Neville was still paddling through the clear waters with childish delight, but Luna had decided it was time for some refreshments. She joined Blaise at the patio table set up under a shaded screen, gratefully accepting the cup of cappuccino he set before her. A plate of hard rusks sat out beside a bread basket. Inquisitive as always, Luna reached for the bread stick looking rusk and nibbled on it, surprised to find it sweet like a biscuit. 

Blaise winked at her and dipped his own biscotti into his coffee before taking a bit. “Did you enjoy your swim?” 

“I did. The water is very invigorating. You should have joined us.” 

“Ah, I find that I am still too much a local child to find swimming in the waters in December comfortable. Maybe, if we return in the summer, I shall take you down to the mermaids’ cove,” he teased. 

“That might be nice,” Luna allowed. “Especially if we could have some gillyweed.” 

“Of course,” Blaise scoffed. “It’s the only way to explore the Mediterranean! I wouldn’t be surprised, though, if that is what is captivating our nymph so,” he added with a wink. 

Luna smiled. “He was rather fascinated with the different sea plants.” 

“I’m sure he’s already found a patch of gillyweed. It grows wild. How do you like your coffee?” 

“Mmm, it’s very good, thank you. Sweet and light, not over powering like some.”

“I often times miss my cappuccino’s when I’m at Hogwarts, although the elves do provide carafes of coffee, it is just not the same.” 

“I especially like this frothy stuff on top,” Luna added, dipping her lips into said froth. 

Blaise smiled at the picture she made, leaning over to lick the frothy mustache clean. “Would you like to spend the rest of the afternoon here, or would you like to do a bit of site seeing?” he asked, still grinning at her. 

“I think we should probably send a letter to Harry and Hermione first, and let them know where we are. We don’t want them to worry if they try to reach us.” 

“Good point. I wish they could join us here.” 

“That would be nice. We should vacation here often.” 

“But it is not a good home for us,” Blaise said sadly. 

Luna reached over and pat his knee. “It is a lovely home, but it will not be suitable for our pard. Don’t worry. We shall visit often. This villa will see life and love and laughter yet. Do you think we could visit Pompeii while we’re here?” 

“If that is what you wish,  mia bella luna ,” Blaise allowed. “We can visit where ever you and Neville decide. Italy, France. Although, I would prefer to stay this side of the Adriatic Sea.” 

“So no Greece or Albania or Croatia?” Luna teased. 

“Maybe another time,” Blaise teased back. “I think you will find Italy has enough to entertain you for two whole weeks.” 

“Italy has you.” 

“No,” Blaise correct lightly, taking Luna’s hand a dropping a kiss upon her knuckles. “You have me.  sempre, fino a quando si avrà me.” 

“What are you two on about?” Neville asked, puffing lightly as he jogged up the stone stairs, towel hanging about his shoulders. He was still grinning as he dropped into a third chair at the table. Almost immediately, a cup of cappuccino appeared before him. “Is this some kind of coffee?” 

“Cappuccino,” Blaise corrected. “Sweetened milk coffee. Try it. If you don’t like it, we can always ask the elves to make you a pot of tea instead.” 

“Never had a coffee before,” Neville braved, blowing on the hot liquid before gingerly taking a sip. His eyebrows rose. “Not bad. So, what were you two talking about?” 

“We were wondering if we’d be able to tear you away from the water long enough to go sightseeing,” Luna teased. “Blaise has said he would take us anywhere in Italy or France we’d like to go.” 

“That’s very generous of him.” Neville continued grinning as he sipped more of his morning coffee. “But I do need to check back in at the manor and make sure Hannah hasn’t tried to reach us yet.” 

“Yes, and we need to send word to Harry and Hermione that we are all safely tucked away here in my villa,” Blaise put in. “As Luna pointed out earlier, it would be remiss of us to allow them to worry.” 

“Good idea. Would it be too much of a hassle to floo back through the way we came?” Neville asked, worrying his lip as he tried to think how to send word to everyone. 

“Not if you’re willing to visit with each and every relative of mine up and down the French floo network,” Blaise warned lightly. 

“Ah, I’d wondered who’s floo we were using last night.” 

“My father’s family is very social,” Blaise allowed, smile big and warm with affection. “You can expect at least a half hour at each stop, if we’re lucky. If not, maybe two hours before we’re allowed to move on. They will all want to know everything about you, and because they know about my mother, they know about me, and they will automatically assume that we are lovers.” 

“We are,” Luna pointed out. 

“We are,” Blaise agreed. “So they will want to know that I am treating you right and being attentive to your needs.” 

Neville snorted. “Quite attentive.” 

“And then they will want to know how serious our relationship is and if we will be bonding as my father and mother were wedded.” 

“Already bonded, I should say,” Luna smiled dreamily. 

“Yeah, mate, sorry to say, but I don’t think you’ll be getting rid of us anytime soon,” Neville added. 

“And then will come the inevitable talk of babies.” 

They all paused there. 

“Well, that’s rather easy.” Both boys looked at Luna. “Hermione and Hannah are already pregnant, so that’s two babies on the way. Neville should be going into his first heat before the end of spring, so there’s another one right there. Really, the only uncertainty is you and me,” she said looking at Blaise. “We’re not sure of either one of our heat cycles yet. And really, that’s assuming no one else joins the pard before the end of the school year, otherwise, there could quite possibly be even more babies on the way.” 

Neville and Blaise shared a look of understanding—each experiencing a moment of uncomfortable realization. “I don’t think I’d really considered what it would mean for the three of us to be on heat cycles,” Neville shared. “I mean, I knew, of course, that I could only conceive once or twice a year, but… I could really honestly get pregnant in a couple of months.” He looked up at Blaise with a mix of wonder and dread. “It’s a rather crazy thought. A part of me really wants it…but it’s also completely terrifying.” 

Blaise smiled in commiseration. “You have a better chance than me,” he confided. “Incubi have a naturally difficult time conceiving and their heat periods could be spread literally decades apart. My mother’s is rather short, merely eight to nine years apart. I might not even go into my first heat for another two to three years, and even then, there’s no guarantee I’ll conceive. I’ve a better chance fathering a child than I ever will of mothering one.”

“What will be, will be,” Luna proclaimed, “But I wouldn’t give up all hope just yet. And don’t worry, Neville. You won’t be the first mother of our pard, either.” 

“If you say so,” Neville sighed. “So, are we writing a letter to Harry and Hermione, then? Do you have an owl here who can handle a flight back to England?”

“There’s an owlery with at least three capable flyers. Worry not how the letter will get there. Worry more about what you will tell Harry for why you have decided to run away to Italy with me, leaving he and Hermione in the cold English winter while we luxuriate along the Grande Riviera.” 

Neville paused, considering that. “You’re right. We should include an invite along with that explanation.” 

Luna clapped and laughed gaily. “The more the merrier!” 

** 

Hermione was just finishing up her second letter when she heard the squawking. “What is that?” she demanded, started to stand. 

“Owlsies for Miss Hermione,” Winky panted, struggling to support both owls as she carried them into the kitchen. 

“Hedwig!” Hermione cried, immediately recognizing the large snowy owl. “Oh, you smart girl! Did you know I have a letter to send out or did you just want to check on Harry? He’s resting upstairs, but he’ll be all right.” 

The owl in question transferred over to the back of Hermione’s chair, looked soul-searchingly into her eyes, and then bobbed her head. Meanwhile, Winky was still struggling with the other owl, trying to coax it into both relinquishing its letters and settling down on one of the kitchen chairs like the snowy owl had. 

“This owlsie not be giving over its letters,” Winky huffed. 

“They’re probably not all for us,” Hermione mused, reaching over to take the envelop with hers and Harry’s name. “They’re from Hannah, and look. The other is for Neville and Luna. She doesn’t know they’re in Italy with Blaise.”

She looked down at her own finished letters. “One of these is going back to Hannah. The other is going to Italy.” She looked at the two owls. “Who wants which one?” 

The owls took a minute to look at each other before shuffling onto the table and pecking at their chosen courier. Hermione smiled. “Will it be all right to send your letter off with Hedwig, then?” she asked the owl that had arrived with Hannah’s letters. “I’ll just add a postscript for Hannah to let her know.” 

Once that was done and the owl on its way back to the Netherlands—of all places! —Hermione turned to Hedwig. “Are you sure you don’t want to check on Harry first?” The owl held her leg out imperiously. “All right, but please be careful. It’s a long trip, and Harry and I would be very upset if something were to happen to you. Please be safe.” 

The owl clucked her beak and then bobbed her head. And then she was off. 

Remus had returned upstairs at some point, and now Hermione was left alone in the kitchen with her thoughts and the brief missive from Hannah—she was at the Bones Family Manor in Netherlands, safely tucked away behind some pretty powerful wards, so don’t worry about her. She missed everyone, and hoped they were doing well. She looked forward to seeing everyone again soon. 

It was short and functional and Hermione couldn’t help but think it didn’t sound much like the bubbly Hufflepuff she was used to spending time with. Picking up the letter to take with her, she began heading upstairs, surprised when she heard voices coming from the parlor. At first, she thought Tonks must have returned, but then she realized it was two male voices. Remus and…

Her father, she realized as she got closer. Her parents were finally awake. 

Taking a solidifying breath, Hermione determinedly strode into the parlor. 

 

** 

“When will we be able to go home?” George Granger demanded gruffly. 

“Will we be able to go home?” Patricia countered at a seemingly more controlled level. 

And that seemed to take a good bit of the gruff out of the other man as his arms uncrossed and he nodded. “Right you are, Tish,” he sighed, turning back to the only other person in the room. “Will we even be able to go home after this?” 

Remus studied the couple, Hermione’s parents. Last night they had been dirty and terrified. This morning, they were more put together. He thought that, perhaps under other circumstances, he would have liked the couple. 

“The truth of the matter is, I wouldn’t suggest it, no,” he told them as delicately as possible while still staying honest. “Not all of the death eaters who attacked your home were killed. That means some of them are out there and they know where you live, where Hermione lives. They’ll try again.” 

George glowered. “Because they’re after Harry.” 

“Yes, and no,” Remus countered. “Yes, Harry is a high target, but even if Hermione wasn’t involved with Harry, she herself is a target. She is an intelligent, powerful muggle born, and the people who attacked you hate that about her, and hate her as a result. She’s living proof that the bigoted beliefs they cling to are false. And so, they would have targeted her even if she was never friends with Harry.” 

“Which is all a moot point anyway,” Hermione entered the room and conversation. “Because anyone who bothers to know anything about me or Harry knows we’ve been good friends since our first year of Hogwarts, even if they don’t know we’re involved more intimately now. I received a letter from Hannah,” she continued towards Remus. “She’s in the Netherlands of all places, but at least she’s safe.” 

She sighed before turning back to her parents, squaring her shoulders. “Mom, Dad, I’m sorry the house was attacked last night, but I’m relieved your both safe. I was worried,” she started before her mother rushed her, tackling her into a crushing embrace. 

“I was so scared,” her mother whispered against her shoulder, not relinquishing her hold. “Everything was shaking, and you rushed us out of the house and into the shed, and then you left us! And I didn’t know if you were alive or dead! You could have been hurt, or worse, killed! Don’t ever do that again! You are my only baby. I couldn’t stand to lose you.” 

Hermione resisted only a second before she melted against her mother. “I’m so sorry, mum, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t ever want you to be caught up in any of this. It might… it might be better if you and dad sold the house and practice, moved away for a little bit, until things settle here.” 

“Move where?” her mother scoffed, finally releasing her enough to stand back and look her over, as if searching for any injuries. “We might have talked about moving to Australia, settling down there when we were older, but that’s all it ever was. Talk. This is our home, Hermione. We are English. And we will not be chased away.” 

Remus, watching mother and daughter interact, thought that the small family needed this time to really talk and reconnect. He remembered the struggles Lily had had with her family—trying to decide how much to share and how much to shield her parents and sister from the wizarding world and the civil unrest. He was seeing it replay out in front of his eyes, he thought sadly. The more things change…. 

Quietly, unobtrusively, he left the room. This was a moment for Hermione and her parents

** 

Remus was making some notes on a parchment at the kitchen table when the floo flared. He’d been there for most of the morning and afternoon—Winky having been kind enough to keep him supplied with plenty of tea and even a light luncheon. Madame Pomphrey came through with her perfunctory manner, bag in hand. 

“Remus,” she greeted. “It’s good to see you looking well.” 

“Thank you, Madame. I’m feeling quite well. But I believe you’re here to check up on Harry.” 

“Yes. Mr. Potter tends to require a good deal of attention over the years, much like yourself,” she added, casting a scrutinizing eye over him. 

“We’re the better for your care and attention,” Remus responded, ushering her up the stairs. “He was awake earlier this morning. Right about when Severus finished his potions.” 

“Yes, Severus told me he’d administered the skelo-grow this morning, so I thought I would give it the opportunity to do some work before I stopped back in to check on our Mr. Potter. It’s a good thing Severus was available and knew the modified recipes Mr. Potter requires.” 

“Yes, I’m grateful Severus was willing to brew them.” 

“I have found Severus is almost always willing to brew a potion, especially if it will help others. He’s actually a very kind soul, for all of his prickly nature.” 

“I know,” Remus confessed. “The world has been very cruel to him, myself included. Yet, he still makes me the wolf’s bane potion every month.” 

“As I recall, it wasn’t you who was the cruelest,” Poppy pointed out. 

“No,” Remus allowed. “But I didn’t try and stop the others, either, which makes me just as guilty for his torment. We bullied him horribly, and without even the slightest of a good reason.” 

“Is there ever a good reason to bully another person?” she retorted. 

“No, you’re right, of course. There’s not. There’s ne—Harry! What are you doing up?” Remus started, having come up the stairs to find Harry tottering in the hallway. 

“Mr. Potter! You get right back into bed at once, young man!” Poppy ordered, coming around Remus to see what he saw. 

“Had to use the loo,” Harry answered, flushing at being caught. “Just on my way back there now, lost my balance, though.” 

“I should say so. That leg bone isn’t anywhere near to being done growing back! You’ll be lucky if you didn’t set its healing back by several days!” 

“It’s almost finished,” Harry panted, “but still weak. Another couple of hours, it should be fine,” he insisted. 

“You’ll let me be the judge of that!” Poppy barked. “Remus, help him back into bed, will you? And keep pressure off that leg!” 

She followed to two into the room, huffing and puffing about as Remus gave Harry a hand. At first, he made to just pick up and carry the boy, but Harry was having none of that. “Just help me in,” he insisted. 

It took a bit longer, but finally Harry was back in bed, leg up and resting while he laid back, sweating and panting. Madame Pomphrey already had her wand out and diagnostic spells were casting. The more vigorously she cast, the more fearsome her scowl became until finally she stepped away from him. 

“I’m a going to live?” Harry teased. 

“I don’t understand it,” the patron confessed. “It’s like your wounds have had days to heal, not just hours.” 

“So I’m good,” Harry pronounced, starting to get back up. 

“Stay right where you are!” the mediwitch ordered, pointing her wand back at him. 

Harry threw his hands up in surrender and laid back down. “Not going anywhere. See? Look, laying back down, honest, Madame Pomphrey.” 

“Oh, you!” she growled. “You don’t fool me for a minute, Mr. Potter. The minute my back is turned, I know you’ll be up out of that bed, high-tailing it off on some adventure or another.” 

“No adventures, ma’am,” he corrected. “I’m still aiming to have a quiet holiday with family. Didn’t start off to such a good start, but, hey! I figure we’ve still got a few weeks left, right?” 

“Hope runs eternal.” 

“Poppy,” Remus called her attention away from their playful bantering. “Are you saying that Harry’s healing faster than expected?” 

“Faster than you expected,” Harry quipped. “I’ve always healed faster, Remus.” 

“While that’s true,” Madame Pomphrey confirmed, “You’re still healing faster than should be reasonably expected, Mr. Potter. A typical witch or wizard would be laid up for several days as their bones regrew, and I would argue they should be on bedrest for a full week to give the bones a chance to strengthen. As you may recall, from the last time we had to regrow some of your bones, you were in and out over the course of one evening, and even then, I only released you on the assurance that you would rest that arm! Even today, knowing that you had taken the potion this morning, I expected to see your leg bones mostly completed in their regrowth and all of the connective tissues starting to rejoin.” 

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Harry asked. He explored his leg earlier when testing his weight on it. It was a bit weak, not as flexible as he was used to—like Hermione had said, he’d need to do some extra stretches. It was a bit tender, but it held steady. Well, mostly steady. He’d probably pushed it a little bit trying to make it to the toilet instead of calling for a chamber pot. But, hey! He made it. 

“You’re healing even faster than expected, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomphrey frowned. 

“I still don’t see what the problem is?” 

“Your body should be burning through a tremendous amount of magic to speed your recovery,” the mediwitch went on, waving her wand over him again. 

“But it’s not,” Harry pointed out calmly. “I’ve been healing scarily fast since this summer. I mean, faster than even before.” 

“Your inheritance,” Remus realized suddenly. 

“Yeah, probably,” Harry agreed, shooting the older man a somewhat sheepish look, wondering just how much the man knew. It wasn’t like he’d purposefully kept the information from him… It was just… complicated. Yeah, that was it. His relationship with Remus was… complicated. Sort of like his with Sirius: an adult he should have known his entire life, who should have been a pseudo-uncle to him, but was, in reality, near enough a complete stranger. And yet he cared about the man. Cared about his feelings and his well-being… It was, true enough, complicated. 

“You’ll need some muscle relaxant cream, I expect,” Madame Pomphrey continued on, seemingly oblivious to the moment suspended between two of her most troublesome patients. “Don’t be too surprised if you have a few cramps in that leg, but, otherwise... You’re fine, Mr. Potter. Practically in perfect health,” she announced, seeming almost offended by such a diagnosis. 

“Practically,” Remus picked up on, alert and worried. 

She shot a cursory look towards the werewolf before turning her attention back to her primary patient. “I wonder, Mr. Potter, if you’d be willing to show me your magical inheritance?” 

“You mean my cat?” he asked, surprised, shooting a quick look towards Remus. “Uh, I suppose so. Um, which, ah, which form did you want to see?” 

“You have more than one?” Pomphrey asked, trying to rein in her eagerness. 

“Well, I mean, I suppose Hermione told you last night?” he questioned, not really trying to hide what he was, but also not sure what the other two adults knew about his circumstances. Remus, he was pretty sure, knew most if not all. At least, he thought that’s what he walked into this morning when he and Hermione were talking. 

“I know about your inheritance, yes,” Poppy answered, not willing to admit it was through the Headmaster’s own words and actions that she had learned the information. 

“Alright, well, there’s the two forms that we’ve discovered so far,” Harry explained, somewhat sheepishly looking between the two adults. “The one’s sort of a hybrid, an in-between of a cat and a human, right? And the other is all cat. I’m not very good at just transforming from one to the other yet, so, ah, give me a moment, yeah?” 

The two adults nodded eagerly and watched as Harry slide off the bed, him watching Madame Pomphrey carefully to make sure she wasn’t going to yell at him again. He held onto the back of a chair that had been placed next the bed at one point and then closed his eyes and thought about what he wanted. 

He wanted to be in his hybrid form. He was taller, stronger in that form. His claws could tear into his enemies, or anyone who would threaten his mates. His wings could come out and protect his mates—shield them or help carrying them away from harm. His arms were strong and could pick them up, hold them. His tail whipped angrily at the thought of anyone even thinking of harm to his mates, and his teeth and jaw ached to crush their throats. 

A sharp intake of breath—not really a gasp—was his reminder that he—and his mates—were safe right now. He blinked his eyes open, slightly disorientated by the blurred focus the world around him took on when in this form. Colors bled away, but lines sharpened in the dark. He didn’t notice his balance shift, not normally, but tonight, there was a slight twinge in his leg when he shifted. That made sense, he guessed, when he thought about it. 

Madame Pomphrey was already waving her wand at him. “Interesting,” she murmured. 

“What?” Remus asked, still staring at Harry in fascinating. 

“Mr. Potter, if you would like, I can have a copy of these medical scans written out for you to look over on your own. I think you might be interested in the biological changes your body has taken on in this form. Your magical signature is still yours, of course. That is to be expected. But your body has physically changed completely. Similar to an animagus transformation. Is your thought pattern any different?” 

Harry looked at her. Did he think differently in this form? He supposed, maybe a little. Things seemed less complicated. But then again, he’d only been in this form a handful of times, and almost all of those times had been while he was with pard, either mating for pleasure or actively breeding. The only exception was last night. He’d transformed into his hybrid self when he’d escaped his shackles and attacked the death eater. 

The fluffy black tail began whipping back and forth as a low growl started to rumble deep in the vanteera’s throat. 

“You said you had another form?” Remus asked, hoping to redirect whatever thoughts—and he thought he had a good idea what Harry was thinking about, considering how he had come to be at Grimauld Place when he was supposed to be spending the holidays with Hermione. 

The large hybrid’s head tilted, as if in thought, and then slowly the large body slunk closer to the ground. It didn’t necessarily shrink, though, Remus realized as he studied the large cat now on all fours in the space between the bed and the far wall. It looked like a black panther, but he remembered Hermione telling him Harry was a leopard—that if you looked closely enough, you could see the spots, but he didn’t think he was ready to get that close to his honorary godson just yet. Not until they knew for certain that it was Harry in there, thinking clearly. 

The leopard leapt up onto the bed and laid down, looking back at Madame Pomphrey and Remus indifferently. 

“Do you notice your leg hurting at all?” the mediwitch asked, waving her wand once again. 

The cat shook its large head, ears flapping. The head shake turned into a full body stretch and a very toothy yawn. Remus wished heartily that there was a second chair in the room he could sit in. Big green eyes turned on him, cat eyes, but they were green. Just like Harry’s; just like Lily’s. 

“You could probably register this as your animagus form,” Remus supposed. “No one needs to know it’s a true form for you. It is a true form, isn’t it?” he asked, turning to look at the matron. 

“It is,” she confirmed. “It’s quite remarkable. I’ll have these reports copied out for you, Mr. Potter. If you’ll kindly transform back into a form which can more easily communicate?” 

The leopard crossed its paws and put its head down on them. 

“Well, if you don’t want to join us for dinner,” Remus began leadingly before looking at the matron. “That is, if it’s okay with Madame Pomphrey that you leave your room any time soon.” 

“He is remarkable well and in good health all around considering he had no leg bone this morning,” the mediwitch confirmed. “I would still suggest taking it easy with that leg. The bone has just been regrown, after all. No matter how fully repaired it appears, it’s still very new. Not too much standing or walking, Mr. Potter. Use the muscle relaxant. Well, I’d say my business here is done.” 

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Remus offered. 

“Thank you, Remus, but I don’t dare. There’s still a few students at the school after all despite the holidays, and you may recall, they can get up to the darnedest things when they think no one is watching.” 

“Too true.”

“Thank you,” Harry said from the bed, where a now very human boy sat cross legged on the covers. “You didn’t have to come out here last night or today, but you did. Thank you.” 

“You may not be on campus, Mr. Potter, but you are still a Hogwarts student, and Hogwarts’s students will always receive help if they but ask.” 

Harry nodded and stood. “One more thing, please, before you go?” 

She paused on her way out the door. 

“Hermione,” Harry began. “I was a bit out of it last night, but did you have a chance to check her over, too?” 

Madame Pomphrey frowned. “She said she was fine.” 

“If you would, before you leave, just a quick check over?” he entreated. 

“If she is agreeable,” the mediwitch nodded. “Of course.” 

“I left her talking to her parents in the main family room earlier,” Remus shared. “I haven’t seen or heard them since, so they might still be in there.” 

Remus lead the way back downstairs to the family parlor. Surprising or not, the family was still there. Hermione and her mother were chatting quietly while her father was reading a book one of the elves had brought over that morning. The family looked up as one as Remus entered with Harry and the mediwitch.

“Harry! What are you doing standing?” Hermione started, standing up herself and rushing over to him. “You should be resting still!” 

“Madame Pomphrey just gave me a clean bill of health,” he told her, taking her by the arms to stop her from herding him back upstairs. “Now it’s your turn.” 

“What? My turn? I’m not the one who broke their leg and had to have it vanished and regrown,” she squawked. 

“No, but you are pregnant, and you just went through an intense attack where you ended up dragging my sorry arse out of a dungeon and through the floo, and I’m pretty sure I landed on top of you when we fell through,” he countered. “Please, Hermione, just let her do a quick check and make sure you’re okay, okay? Did you use that bruise paste like you said you would?” 

“Yes, or didn’t you notice that the jar was near empty?” 

“I didn’t, but then, I had other things on my mind when I woke up.” 

“Oh? Like what?” 

“Well, the first time, I was wondering where you were at, and this second time, it was an urgent need of the loo, so… No, haven’t really gone looking around at things since we got here.” 

“Ms. Granger, if you would?” Madame Pomphrey offered, holding her wand out at the ready. 

“Oh, very well.” She stepped away from Harry so as not to have her vitals confused with his and waited patiently. 

“What’s going on?” her mother asked, standing now as well. Her father was also paying attention, having lowered his book to watch. 

“I’m conducting a simple diagnostic spell that will tell me your daughter’s vitals,” Poppy explained to the nervous parents as she waved her wand through said spell. “Then I will cast a second charm that will alert me to any recent changes to the body—these changes are usually what we are looking for when someone has been in an accident as they will tell us if there is bruising or internal injuries that we cannot see. Such as a nasty bruise forming on your hip, dear. I’ll be sure to send you over some more bruise paste. And you’ll need to apply more to your wrists and arms, as well. You’ve managed to surface bruises well enough, but if you don’t use the creams, you’ll be quite colorful in a few days’ time.” 

“But other than that, she’s okay?” Harry asked. 

“Other than that?” her father repeated. “I think that more than enough!” 

“Yes, she’s—oh, that’s strange.” The mediwitch frowned and repeated her casting. 

“What?” “What’s strange?” several voices overlapped asking. 

“Ms. Granger, have you been to see any other healer? Had any other spells cast on you, medical or otherwise since last you came to see me?” the mediwitch asked seriously. 

“No, ma’am. Not even so much as a cheering charm,” Hermione replied. “Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Well,” Pomphrey flustered. “Knowing what I do of your condition, I went ahead and ran another scan spell, just to make sure everything was okay, you understand.” 

“Is there something wrong with the baby?” Hermione asked nervously, hands automatically rushing to cover her lower belly. And then, thinking back on what Winky had said early that day, she asked, “Is it the stasis spell?”

“That’s just it,” Madame Pomphrey huffed. “The stasis spell is not registering there at all. It’s like it was never cast. The baby is fine—in perfect, health even. For a seventh week gestation.” 

Hermione frowned. Seven weeks wasn’t too far along, but it was still a little bit further than she should be if the stasis spell was in place. “Can you recast it?” 

“I could, but there’s a chance—“ The medical witch hesitated, before giving her a somewhat sympathetic look. “If it failed once, it might very well fail again, Ms. Granger. Some witches never took well to the stasis spell, and their own magic worked to break down the spell. You might be one of those witches.” 

“Please try again,” Hermione requested. 

“You don’t think the spell’s failure has anything to do with me, do you?” Harry asked. “I mean, with my cat and all?” 

“I sincerely doubt it, Mr. Potter, although I suppose it could be possible and therefore should not be ruled out entirely. No one really knows all that much about vanteerians, and what they do know is really just supposition at any rate. However, it really is more likely that Ms. Granger’s own magical core is responsible for the deterioration of the spell. There are some magicals who never accept another person’s magic laying cast upon them.” 

“Hannah should probably be checked over as well, then, too, when we all return to Hogwarts,” Harry said, thinking out loud, not catching the surprised look of sudden comprehension on the mediwitch’s face. But Hermione did. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Hermione responded. “Winky said something about it this morning,” she confessed. “I think Hannah’s going to be just fine with the stasis spell. And we already suspected that the stasis charm would not be possible for the others due to their natures.” She sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. She’d never considered that she would have any issues with the spell, though. 

Harry looked at her… and then nodded, acceptingly, siddling over to pull her back against his chest and rub her shoulders comfortingly—for her or for himself, it didn’t matter. “But other than the stasis spell not sticking, she’s okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter.” 

“Thank you, Madame Pomphrey.” 

“Of course. Shall we try again before I leave,” she asked Hermione.

“Yes, please,” the head girl responded stepping forward. “And then Hannah and I will both visit you when we return to Hogwarts. Better to know for sure. Thank you, Madame Pomphrey.” 

The mediwitch waved her wand once more and recast the stasis spell that would interrupt a normal germination, and then she made her escape back to her domain and her files to be updated. 

** 

“Will someone care to explain what that was all about?” 

Hermione turned back to the room, just baring resisting the urge to wince. “Dad, Madame Pomphrey is the mediwitch at Hogwarts. She’s like a school nurse.” 

“That I understood. And I understood her to say there was something wrong with that spell you said you had her do, the one that stopped you from being pregnant even though you were already pregnant. Oh, yes, I picked up on that,” her father continued. “And the fact that there’s another girl at your school who’s also pregnant. What is this? One of those pregnancy pact thingies you hear about on the telly? Girlfriends vowing to have babies together?” 

“What? No! It’s not like that at all!” Hermione sputtered, horrified at the thought. 

“This other girl, Hannah. She’s the one you started hanging around with this year. Did she put you up to this? Convince you it was a good idea to go and get preggers for graduation?” 

“Oh, my gods,” Hermione groaned, aghast. “Are you serious right now? You know nothing about Hannah—she is one of the sweetest persons I have ever met!” 

“I don’t know anything about her because you’ve never mentioned her before!” he argued. “But I know this is not the daughter I knew. My daughter wouldn’t have gone around and gotten pregnant before she even graduated with her A’s.” 

“They’re NEWT’s, dad,” Hermione practically growled with frustration. “They’re called NEWT’s in the wizarding world, and guess what, your daughter is pregnant, whether you like it or not! I can’t deal with this right now,” she decided, turning and striding out of the room. 

Harry hovered, staring dumbfounded at his future in-laws, before turning to follow Hermione out with a muttered, “Excuse me.” 

“Well, that went over rather nicely,” Trish huffed, walking back to her seat. “Lovely job, dear.” 

“You can’t tell me you’re okay with all this, Trish,” her husband growled. 

“I don’t see as how I’ve a choice,” she answered calmly. “I refuse to be estranged from my only child. No matter how strange or uncomfortable this other world may be, it is the world to which Hermione belongs to. She’s never been normal, George. You used to tell her normal was too boring for someone as extraordinary as she, so why should you be surprised now that she’s not meeting your normal expectations of what a daughter should be?” 

“Dear god, Trish, she’s only eighteen!” 

“And she’s convinced she’s found the love of her life and they’re going to get married and have a happy little family together, yes, I know. We both know how difficult that really is, but Hermione has to make her own decisions in life, George. She’s always been self-reliant and determine. And if you want to be a part of your daughter’s life, your grandchildren’s lives, then you need to deal with it.” 

“Ah, excuse me,” Remus spoke up. “But I feel I should point out to you now in case hasn’t been made plain to you before.” 

“What now?” George Granger practically cried, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Hermione is a witch.” 

“Yes, I believe we’re aware of that, thank you very much!” 

Remus was undeterred, however. “She is also of age, which means, legally, she no longer requires your permission to live her life how she sees fit.” Oh, that didn’t sit too well with the muggle, but at least he held his tongue this time. “Additioinally, she is in a relationship with Harry.” 

“Oh, believe me, we know that well enough,” George Granger growled. 

“Whom I consider the nearest thing to a son to me,” Remus continued. “The only child of my best friends, a child of my pack. And, I’m not sure if the others mentioned that Harry came into a rather remarkable inheritance on his birthday?” 

“Yes, something about a magical being,” Patricia Granger recalled. “And that being the reason Hermione and Harry got together this year. That they’re for all intents and purposes magically married.” 

“Yes, well, I’m sure Harry intends to make there be no doubt in anyone’s minds that Hermione is his wife and primary mate,” Remus acknowledge. “In fact, I would be highly surprised if she didn’t return to Hogwarts with a formal ring on her finger signifying their bond. Whether they ever choose to have a wedding ceremony is really up to them.” 

“He better damn well marry her! You don’t go knocking a girl up and then not doing the right thing by her and the baby!” her father sputtered. 

“I hate to be the barer of unwelcome news, as it were, but Hermione and Harry might not choose to have a formal wedding such as you might expect. You see, it stands that Harry’s creature is one that lives in a more communal-like family structure with multiple mates.” 

And wasn’t that just a dung-bomb to drop on the unsuspecting muggles. 

** 

Harry didn’t find her far away. Hermione had automatically gone to the bedroom she had shared with Ginny in previous years. She was standing just inside the room, staring at her old bed. The room, like the other bedrooms in the house, had been emptied and scrubbed clean at some point in the last year, but it was still in desperate need of at the very least a coat of paint. It was dark and dreary like most of the house. 

“Hey,” he called out gently, coming up behind her. He rubbed at her arms for comfort. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” she sniffled. 

“That’s normally my line,” he teased. 

She gave a little sobbed laugh, and then she turned in his arm, glomping onto him, burying her face against his shoulder and throat as her whole body shook and shivered against him. If he had any doubts about her crying, they were washed away, and he held her tightly against him, nuzzling against her wild riot of silky curls. His wings came out and enfolded around her, encasing her in a cocoon of warmth. He wasn’t sure what else to do to comfort her, how to protect her from her demons, but he wanted to. 

He ran his hands up and down her back, rubbing at the tense muscles. He dropped little kisses against her hair. “Tell me how to make this better,” he begged. “Tell me how to make you happy again.” 

She burrowed deeper against him. “I love you, Harry, I really do, but sometimes I wish things didn’t have to be so complicated around you.” 

He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against her stomach, arms wrapped around her waist. “I’m sorry, Hermione. So sorry.” 

She dug her hand into his hair, holding his head against her. Still sniffling, she fought to regain her control. “Silly, you’re supposed to say you love me back and you’d do anything for me.” 

He looked up at her, green eyes bright and shining as they looked up into her own warm chocolate depths. “But you already know that. I’ve always adored you, Hermione. Your mind,” he said, dropping a kiss against her belly. “Your spirit,” he continued, kissing a little higher up near her rib cage. “Your heart,” he added, placing another kiss between her breasts. “Your body,” he finished, sliding a final kiss against the bare skin of her throat. “But I have never loved you more than I do in this moment.” 

She exhaled, pulling him up completely to hold against her. “Why can’t things ever be easy?” 

“Because then they would be normal,” Harry replied. “And you could never be anything as ordinary as normal.” 

“You mean you can’t,” Hermione huffed, amusement finally tinging her voice. “I’m scared.” 

“Don’t be. We’re safe.” 

“For now. For this moment, yes, but they attacked my family, my home. I killed a man last night. It was in self-defense, I know that, but I still took another human being’s life.” 

“So did I.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry, but then you were hurt so badly.” 

“You saved us; you rescued us.” 

“I did no such thing. If anything, we saved ourselves.” 

Harry shook his head. “I was in no state to really think last night. I followed your directions because I trusted you to get us out.” 

“You’d quite the bashing,” she said gently, running her fingers along his scalp. “Even knowing how wonderful magic is, I’m still surprised not to see or feel a bump still.” 

“One of the first things Madame Pomphrey took care of, I’m sure. She’s rather concerned when it’s a head injury, even if there are broken bones sticking out of the body.” 

“That’s because your brain is your body’s most important organ,” Hermione lectured. “Without it, your body couldn’t function.” 

“Without you, I couldn’t function. Does that make you my brain?” 

“Someone needs to think for you,” she teased back, bumping against him. 

“Just don’t leave me.” Harry squeezed her. “I was so scared when I saw you come back last night. You should have been safely hidden away with your parents in the shed, and instead, you came back and fought. You could have been hurt so much worse.” 

“Like you, you mean?” Hermione snapped. “Harry, when are you going to learn it’s not okay to do everything yourself. We need you too much for you to throw your life away.” 

“I wasn’t throwing my life away,” he protested. “I was trying to give you time and space to get you and your parents to safety.” 

“And you did. I did. But don’t ask me to hide away when you’re fighting to protect us. That I won’t do. So if you want me to keep safe and hidden away, you better be willing to do the same.” 

“My fiery lioness,” he murmured, nuzzling her cheek. 

“Don’t try and distract me with sex,” she murmured back, turning into his nuzzling, lips finding his in a series of breathy kisses. 

“Who said anything about distracting,” he growled, hands sliding down her back to grip her bottom and squeeze and mold. 

“Sex isn’t always the answer,” she breathed, neck arching, back bowing as she held onto his arms. 

“Isn’t it?” he returned, hands sliding up under her jumper, pushing it up, up, up, and off. He dropped his face into the smooth fabric of her bra, nuzzling the valley between her breasts as his hands went back to caressing her now bare back. She shivered—whether from chill or excitement, he didn’t know. Fingers fumbled over the clasp of her bra—even with months of practice at this now, he wasn’t very good, but the girls had argued about him just rolling the piece of under clothing off like any other top, so he worked to unclasp the tiny hooks. Worked so he could bare her pretty breasts and take a nipple into his mouth. 

Hermione’s hands were back in his hair, massaging his scalp as he suckled at her breast, his other hand molding and massaging her other breast. It was like a direct line of fire connected her breasts to her groin, and each tug of suction, each pinch of his lips or scrape of his teeth caused a tug of pained need to throb between her legs. She hated that he was still dressed, still fully clothed when she stood half naked in front of him. How unfair was that? She wanted him naked, wanted his naked body pressed up against hers, wanted him inside her. 

She reached out to grab a fistful of his jumper and tug it up, reminding him that he was too overdressed. There was only a moment of resistance, and then he pulled off her breast, rearing back to look up at her. He grabbed at his own hem and yanked the sweater and undershirt off, tossing it away before falling on her again. This time his mouth latched onto her other breast, sucking heartily, as if he could inhale the entire breast into his mouth. The press of his teeth against her delicate flesh was slightly painful, and she cried out. Green eyes rolled up to look at her… and then he slowly started to bit down. 

Hermione gasped in surprise, watched him as he slowly sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of her breast. The sharp pain shot lightning bolts of pleasure racing like liquid fire through her veins, her sex blazing like molten rock, flowing, greedy, needy. She cried out, tapping her palm against his arm, and he pulled back immediately, eyes dropping from her face to the perfect indent of his teeth in her breast. She looked as well, surprised not to see blood. 

“I want you to ride me,” he said hoarsely. “I want to watch your tits bounce as you fuck yourself.” 

“You and your fascination with breasts,” Hermione huffed, panting lightly before demanding, “Not on the floor.” 

He looked at the two beds in the tiny room, before looking back at her and quirking an eyebrow. Hermione huffed and drew her wand. “Put up a silencing charm, please,” she requested as she turned her attention towards the two tiny single cot beds, weaving them together into one respectably sized bed that would suit their needs. Neither one considered the option of leaving the room to go find a different room with a decent sized bed, not even with the master bedroom only one floor up. 

Hermione was just lowering her wand when Harry came up behind her, one hand possessively at her hip, the other fiddling with the fastenings of her jeans, pushing them out of the way so he could cup a hand over the small swell of her belly. She relaxed back against him, staring down at where his hand rested—right over where a baby was growing inside her. It was too small yet to be noticeable—her tummy pouch was all her for the moment… but for how much longer? 

Was she really one of the few women who threw off the stasis charm? Had the charm already failed a second time? But surely she would know, right? She would recognize the signs of pregnancy—the fatigue, the nausea? Those were the first symptoms of pregnancy, right? But she hadn’t had any of that. She’d been perfectly fine. 

She could be nearing three months pregnant by Christmas. 

“What are you thinking about so hard?” Harry whispered against her ear. 

“There’s a baby growing in there,” she answered automatically. 

His hand pressed harder against her belly. “Yes,” he purred, nuzzling against her ear and then nipping the lob. “I remember how he was conceived, do you?” 

“’He’?” Hermione questioned. 

“Or she,” Harry allowed, grazing his teeth along the column of her throat, down to her shoulder. “Do you remember that night, Hermione, when I took you on the balcony?” His hips rocked against her bottom, and she thought she could feel the hard, solid heat of his penis even through the fabric of their jeans. 

“The night you first transformed?” 

“Yes,” he purred.

“That was back in October, Harry.” 

“I know.” His hand trailed up from her belly to slide over her breast. “I can’t wait to see you nursing our baby.” 

“You really do have a thing for breasts,” she teased. 

“Can’t help it. Yours are all so pretty, and they taste divine.” 

“Mmm, but I thought you said you wanted to watch them bounce while I rode your cock.” 

“Yes, I still do.” 

“Well, you’re a bit over dressed still,” she pointed out, turning in his arms and backing up into the bed. He watched her with hungry eyes. She slid onto the bed, sliding her jeans off as she went. Grinning toothily, he released his own jeans as he stepped over to join her, kicking off his shoes and the stubborn denim before he crawled up onto the bed over her. Deliberately, he lowered himself over her, pressing her into the mattress. With no prompting at all, her legs fell open to him, thighs sliding up his thighs and hips, opening her core heat to his exploration. Save for a gentle gyration of his pelvis rocking against hers, he ignored the source of her need, choosing instead to focus on feeding from her mouth as massaging her breasts. 

Moments, minutes later, Hermione tore her mouth free from his, gasping. “Harry, please.” 

“What?” he breathed. “What do you want Hermione? You’ve only to ask and I will give it to you. Do you want me to tease your nipples some more? Pinch them and roll them between my fingers? Do you want me to bite you some more? Leave my teeth’s impressions all over your body? Or do you want me to fill you up with my cock, fill you, fuck you? Or better yet, let you fuck yourself? You like that, Hermione, don’t you? You like riding a cock, controlling just how deeply it fills you, how fast or slow it fills you up until we explode beneath you and fill you up with our come instead. Is that it, Hermione? Do you want me to roll over on my back and let you slide down around my cock so you could ride me?” 

“Dammit, Harry,” Hermione panted, shivering. 

“You like it,” he panted back. “You like the idea of feeling a cock slide in and out of your pretty little pussy.” He reached a hand down low, and she cried out with the first real touch as his fingers slide between her wet folds. “So hot, Hermione,” he murmured. “So needy. So wet and ready,” he added, playing his fingers between the soupy slick, teasingly flicking against the button-like clit before sliding back and pressing against her opening. Again, just teasing, hinting at the promise of something more. 

“Do you want me to use my fingers, Hermione? I could, just slide my fingers right inside your wet little hole,” he matched actions to words, curling his fingers just inside of her opening. She bucked against him. “So hot, Hermione. But it’s not enough, is it. Are my fingers good enough to get off on, Hermione, or do you need something bigger, longer? What do you want, Hermione? Tell me.” 

“Want you, inside me,” she gasped. “Want to feel.” 

“You feel so good, Hermione,” he cooed, his fingers speeding up, pressing harder and faster against that special spot. He could feel the walls of her sex contracting around his fingers, and he grinned. “Come for me, Hermione. Let me see you come undone.” He slid his thumb over her clit, smashing it and playing with the tiny nub until she cried out, arching against him. 

Grinning with his victory, Harry rolled over, pulling Hermione atop of him, maneuvering her legs to either side of his hips, he reached between them and manhandled his own sex until he could smear the evidence of their arousal. With one hand holding steady his eager cock and the other manipulating Hermione’s pelvis, he managed to slide his cockhead along her pussy until he found her opening, still greedily contracting in the aftermath of her orgasm. A shift of her hips—her doing—had his cock sliding past her entrance, and he hissed as her heat engulfed him. 

Hermione shifted above him again, and suddenly more of his cock was sliding into the radiating, all-consuming heat. He cried out, writhing beneath her. Those liquid chocolate eyes opened and fastened on his face, and they seemed to be glowing, as if lit by an inner flame. Hermione sat up, wedging his cock even deeper into her heat. The very air around her wavered, as if he was seeing her through a haze of heat, the sound of fire crackling filled his ears over the sound of gasping breaths and squeaking bed springs, and he thought he could smell a faint trace of smoke. 

“Hermione,” he warned, grabbing hold of her forearms, wincing as the skin of his palms began to burn. 

She threw her head back, body arching impossibly as another orgasm washed over her, her hips crashing into his, grinding down as if to shove more of his cock deeper inside of her. But in this form, he’d already given her all he had to give. Her need pressed at him, and he rushed to deliver. 

Fur slipped over his skin as his limbs stretched and gained several inches. With a sharp cry, Hermione fell onto him again, this time receiving the deeper penetration she seemed to be seeking. Harry growled, planting his feet against the mattress to get better purchase to thrust up, filling his beautiful mate with every last inch of his penis. Hermione cried out again, but when she would have moved to pull off his organ, clawed fingers gripped at her waist and held her down. A series of shallow thrusts had her screaming out another orgasm, and Harry growled out his satisfaction at pleasing his mate. 

She fell against him, exhausted, the flame finally extinguished, but he was far from finished. Still gripping her hips, he continued to bounce and rock her over his penis, taking pleasure in not only the slip slide of her hot sex engulfing his, but also in the squelching sound of their juices mixed together and the slap of their skin smacking together. The togetherness, as she lay cuddled against his chest, nuzzling sleepily against him, as he held her, one arm wrapped around her back, the other maintaining tempo as his maneuvered her hips and ass. He felt like he could keep this up all night long. 

But of course it couldn’t last. The body had a limit, after all, and he reached his at long last, shouting out as he released his seed into his mate’s fertile womb—already filled with life of their creating. He purred and nuzzled into her, but she was already dozing. He soon joined her. 

**

*********  
Still to come…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With November's nanowrimo completed, I have an additional 50K of this story written. However, the scenes aren't necessarily in order as quite a bit of skipping was done in the writing marathon AND there are a ton of key scenes missing. Yeah. A lot of exposition, fluff between the pard/aka smutty times among the pard... One or two death eater scenes... Neville's heat... Bit of a confrontation between Snape and Harry that I'm not too happy about--but that's not until spring. Still a ways off. Need to finish off the Christmas Hols before we get there, and I estimate another two chapters for that. 
> 
> Translation: Slow updates continue, but hey! It's not abandoned! 
> 
> Prediction: I think there's maybe 10-20 more chapters before this story wraps up. 
> 
> Tomorrow, I catch a flight home and back to the "real world". As always, thank you for reading.


	31. Nightmares and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Hermione escaped capture but others are not so lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins with a Death Eater Revel. Warnings of rape, torture, and horribleness apply.

31 – Nightmares and Reality –

~THEN~

“What are you two on about?” Neville asked, puffing lightly as he jogged up the stone stairs, towel hanging about his shoulders. He was still grinning as he dropped into a third chair at the table.

“We were wondering if we’d be able to tear you away from the water long enough to go sightseeing,” Luna teased. “Blaise has said he would take us anywhere in Italy or France we’d like to go.”

“That’s very generous of him.” Neville responded, grinning as he sipped more of his morning coffee. “But I do need to check back in at the manor and make sure Hannah hasn’t tried to reach us yet.”

“Yes, and we need to send word to Harry and Hermione that we are all safely tucked away here in my villa,” Blaise put in.

Neville sighed. “So, are we writing a letter to Harry and Hermione, then?”

“What you will tell Harry for why you have decided to run away to Italy with me, leaving he and Hermione in the cold English winter while we luxuriate along the Grande Riviera?”

Neville paused, considering that. “You’re right. We should include an invite along with that explanation.”

Luna clapped and laughed gaily. “The more the merrier!”

~NOW~

 

\- Friday, December 12, Madnora Manor-

 

He watched the shifting rabble as one by one, his followers stepped forward to share their reports. All striving to attempt to highlight their successes while shadowing their failures, he knew. Some were more skilled at this minor deceit, but none could ever truly hide from him. Not when they bore his mark, burnt into their very flesh, weaved tightly through their own magical core. The compulsion to always tell their lord and master the truth was spelled into the very ink that coursed through his extraordinary dark mark.

Voldemort smiled down at his gathering, privately amused and delighted at how they shifted nervously.

“You have done well,” he announced, knowing that a little praise would continue to motivate the masses. “Our plans for the Ministry progress. Key players for our future ventures shall continue to be acquired and put into place. Soon, We will control the Ministry, and with it, Britain.”

They cheered while he smiled at them benevolently.

“Yes, yes,” he calmed them after another minute. They quieted instantly. “Meanwhile, we continue our private gambit to control the public. It is true, this is a long endeavor. It may take us years, decades, to see the true fruits of our labours, but make no mistake, we shall prevail!”

Once again the hall erupted into cheers. Once again he waited but a minute before quieting them.

“Many of you have worked hard,” he leered at them. “You’ve donated your time and seed to the Houses, and soon, your efforts will bear fruit.”

There were snickers and chortles and jeers amongst the masses. He graciously allowed it

“Those of you who wish to stake a personal claim upon your investments, may do so,” he continued. “Be sure to let Gambol know of your interest so that you may be informed.” He gestured to the healer in question, who turned and nodded towards the others.

“For those of you who do not wish to take a personal interest… that is fine. Already preparations are being put in place, and before the summer we should have two appropriate homes to rear the assets. Volunteers, of course, will be needed to work the homes. Those interested should consult with Smethwyck or Pike, who are heading up this particular project.

“In the meantime, we must turn our attention to matters even closer to home. We have struggled for far too long. There have been setbacks; there have been triumphs. What you must ask yourselves is, are you doing everything possible to support the Dark? It is not enough to smile and nod and then sit back and carry on life as if before. We are at war, a very insidious war, a quiet war for our very survival. The right to live our lives as we were always meant to, worshiping and honoring the power and might of magic.

“Though we suffered a brutal setback nearly fifteen years ago, yes, it is true, we have once again made gains. Still, there is far yet we must go. When I returned to you, two years ago, I asked you if you were still committed to our goals. You told me yes. When I told you what must be done, you acquiesced. You once again submitted and consented yourselves to my vision, and we marched forthward with purpose and determination once more. We have gathered others, likeminded, and banded together, for there is strength in numbers, yes, there is. But there is also strength in power, and we, my friends, have both!”

They cheered upon rioting—how easily they were manipulated.

“Yes, it is true. We have the strength of many pure and noble blooded amongst us. Some of the oldest families in the British Isles make up our numbers. And even as we stand here this evening, our numbers begin to swell. But—“

And just as suddenly, they stilled. Even the quiet jeering and whispering silenced.

“I must confess myself…disappointed.”

He frowned, and allowed his magic to weigh heavily in the air. The masses shifted, nervous once again, uneasy.

“Rumours have made their way back to my ear,” he told them dolefully. “Surely these rumours could not be true. After how much work and effort we have all put forth, sacrificed… surely not.

“Nott! Step forward,” he commanded, and towards the left of his gathering there was a shifting as those nearest the called out death eater stepped away.

Thaddeus Nott was not a handsome man. With watery eyes and washed out hair, he looked much like a sick-starved rodent, much older than his near seventy years of age. Weedy, practically emaciated, he didn’t look strong enough to stand, let alone hold a wand. He was one of the few of his contemporaries still left alive… which spoke more of his worthlessness than any skill.

Still, nearly two decades ago, the man had followed the mandates left in his father’s will. He had taken a wife and managed to beget the young woman with child. And when she died in childbirth, he had somehow managed to convince another family to marry their daughter off to him to beget the three total required children his late father had stipulated which had then allowed him access to the Nott family vaults. Vaults the wastrel and his two equally as worthless brothers had quickly drunk, gambled, and whored away. Voldemort sneered at the male as he shuffled forward.

“Milord?”

“Where are your brothers,” Voldemort asked, sounding very mild indeed, for all that he knew the answer and was, in actuality, furious. “I do not see them here.”

“No, milord,” Thaddeus groveled like some cowering vermin. “They are no longer with us.”

“Something has happened to them?” he continued to play the game, enjoying the way the other man began to sweat and fumble. He had never cared for Thaddeus Nott, even when they were both students of Slytherin House, Nott several years below himself. He was thankfully saved from every having to share a dormitory with the foul excuse for a wizard.

“I am sorry, milord. I didn’t know, I didn’t know,” Nott stumbled over himself, falling to his knees. “Not until after the deed was done. I would’ve have told them to check with you first, but they sought to gift you with the girl, and I only found out about it afterwards.”

“Am I to understand that Titus and Thorstien are dead?” Voldemort hissed, playing with his prey—he had already had the rest of this evening planned out before he’d even called his death eaters to gather. To see others playing their part so well filled him with satisfaction.

“They only sought to gift you the girl, milord,” Thaddeus mumbled. “And they died for it.”

“They died because they underestimated Potter’s mudblood and overestimated their own capabilities,” Voldemort hissed, finally allowing some of his anger to leak through his words. “Tell me, Thaddeus, how many of your family members survived your brothers’ fumble?”

“Milord?”

“How many males are left to carry your line, Thaddeus? Come now, it’s not a difficult question.”

“Ju-just the two,” the man near-whispered. “My boy and my one nephew, but he’s in a bad way.”

“Just the two,” Voldemort repeated, lacing his words with sadness and disappointment. “Your family has been more than halved. Tell me, Thaddeus, where is your lady wife, and why is she not here with you?”

“She’s—she’s minding the little ones, at home, Milord.”

“Have you more children now than just the three, Thaddeus?” He already knew the answer. After all, it was practically an open joke that the pathetic wizard had needed the aid of potions to beget each of his three children. There was some talk amongst his followers, that the children weren’t even Thaddeus, but that he had paid one of his brothers to sleep with his wife and beget the children, which is why he willingly allowed his brothers to share in his inheritance.

“No, milord. It’s still just the three,” the death eater confirmed.

“You still possess an elf, don’t you?”

“Yes, Milord. Came with my wife, it did.”

“Call it.”

He did. The gathered throng watched in eager anticipation—unsure of where this evening would go, but hoping for a good show. Voldemort was sure many of them would be pleased. And if not, it didn’t really matter. They would all do as he commanded.

“How can Siskey be being of service?” the little elf asked tremulously.

“Siskey, you will retrieve your mistress and the three Nott children. You will bring them here, immediately. Do you understand?”

The little elf looked between the scary snake man and her mistress’s husband, who jerkingly nodded at her.

“Siskey be bringing family,” the elf agreed sorrowfully before popping out.

The masses rustled.

“Milord, might I, uh, ask, uh, why—“

“You may not.”

That shut the old fool up long enough for the elf to return with the four immediate Nott family members.

“What is the meaning of this?” Cecilia Nott demanded, glaring at her weak husband.

“Ah, Lady Nott, finally,” Voldemort cut into what looked to be a somewhat amusing tirade aimed at an uninspiring husband. He took note of the children—the son who, by all rights, should have already been at his father’s side at this meeting, hovered slightly to the side of his step-mother, helping shield the two daughters; the girls in their nightdresses, barely old enough for Hogwarts, cowering behind their mother and brother.

“My Lord,” the young woman murmured with a hasty curtsy.

“Yes, I was just congratulating our cohorts on all their hard work and dedication to our cause. We’ve all been working very hard, dedicating our time, sweat, and tears to ensuring the future of the wizarding world is what we want it to be. Why, even your husband has donated to the cause.

“But then I discover that your brothers-in-law have made hasty actions. Yes, I am very saddened by this news that the Nott family has been so devastated. Surely, even yourself must be deeply aggrieved at the loss to your family.”

“My lord,” the woman murmured again, still not raising from her curtsy. Truly, she had been well taught by her birth family.

“But that is not all. No indeed, there have been rumours, Lady Nott; nasty rumours that say you’ve refused to do your part. I thought surely this isn’t true. A well-bred, pureblooded witch such as yourself, the daughter of the well-thought of Peckerings, married into another pureblooded family… No, surely not. Not you, Lady Nott,” he said with a grin. “You would not deny yourself towards aiding the cause of the Dark, especially in light of your family’s most recent losses.”

“Of course not, my Lord,” the rather young and almost pretty woman responded.

“Ah, very good. So you did not deny your husband the right of access to your bed to beget further heirs,” he sneered, mockingly, toying with his prey as the masses shifted excitedly, scenting blood. “You understand I had to be sure. Our notable families have become so diminished as of late. Your own family is quite small, isn’t it?”

“Ah, yes, my lord. I mean, no, my lord! I mean—” the woman stammered, cheeks furiously red and her eyes nervously darted to those surrounding her.

“There, you see, Thaddeus,” Voldemort said almost jovially. “I knew the rumours must have been mistaken. And as a sign of good faith towards our cause, we shall hold a special conception ritual right here!” he announced, grinning toothily.

Before anyone could protest or react, he had flicked and swished his wand. The two daughters were banished to the wall where chains and manacles slithered around to encase their delicate wrists. The boy and sire were temporarily frozen, while wife and mother was striped sky clad before the masses.

Another twirled of his wand conjured one of the breeding benches that furnished some of his other more popular houses. The masses were already pressing in, eagerly close, and ribbing each other excitedly before the Lady Nott had been strapped facedown firmly to the bench.

“Pike?” he called out mildly. “I trust you have the appropriate potions on you for a successful breeding, do you not?”

“Of course, my lord,” the death eater responded, half-stepping forward.

“Very good. You may administer them now.”

The healer rushed forward, practically tripping over himself, and Voldemort nearly sighed, half-wishing his potions master was here instead. Severus never stumbled or fawned. He was always precise and exacting. It was a shame there had yet to be another rising star to replace the man. He would have so enjoyed seeing the man add to his pool of future supporters. Alas, the most delicate nature of his profession currently prevented it, and Severus was as of yet, far more valuable to him as a potions master than a breeding sire.

The woman attempted to struggle, refusing to cooperatively swallow the potions pressed upon her. Voldemort merely continued to watch, absently noting the jiggle of her flesh as she squirmed and writhed, her dark hair escaping its bun and floating down around her flushed face.

“No need to administer the second set,” he informed the healer before he could break the seal of the stamina potion. “It will not be needed.” He looked out at his eager followers, their flashing eyes and gleaming grins. “Now, as Lady Nott has no protest with lending aid to our cause, let us all celebrate and rejoice in this gift of sacrifice. Thaddeus, you first, of course.”

The gaunt man stumbled a step forward, looking stunned and baffled all at once. Disgraceful.

“Milord?”

“See to your wife,” he commanded amongst the jeers and catcalls of the others. He faltered and lurched towards where the prostate woman was secured to the padded bench, looking around him at the gawkers. “Come now, Thaddeus, your lady wife awaits. Would you leave her thus? Some other fellow might just swoop in and take your place!”

Thaddeus continued to stumble forward, looking around him at all the others who stared and leered and shifted eagerly closer. He looked up at his lord, who continued to smile benevolently down at him. He looked down at the witch who was his wife, chosen not for love but for convenience of tying two pureblooded families together. He swallowed and seemed to give himself a shake, rucking up his robes and shuffling forward.

Around the hall, other death eaters continued to jeer and call out encouragements. Lord Voldemort was not the only one present who knew Thaddeus Nott sought out the young boys when visiting the play houses. All around, they continued to watch on as the old man fumbled and jerked, unable to hide the rictus of distaste from his face until finally, with a grunt, he stumbled back, shoving his robes back down his scrawny legs.

Lord Voldemort nodded, a fissure of excitement racing up his spine in anticipation for what he knew was to come. This was the first example from his followers, and possibly the last. Or maybe not, depending on how many of his death eaters took this warning to them all. Nott had merely been chosen by chance circumstance. Up until the point he learned of Titus’s and Thorstein’s blunder.

“Finished so soon?” he called out, lacing just the right amount of mocking sadness in his voice to have the rest of the masses amused. “Ah, well, I suppose it is just to allow the others their chance. Your son is next—yes, yes. After all, she was given to the Notts, it’s only right that the Notts receive the first opportunity to breed her. Come young Theodore, step forward. There’s a good lad. Have you ever bred a witch before?”

Around the room the masses cheered and jeered and practically erupted into a riot when it was finally determined the son would have to be imperio-ed to follow through on the breeding. Voldemort watched with feign interest as he casually had the boy mount the strapped woman. Despite the encouraging calls from the crowd and due more to his own imperious curse, the teen outlasted his father at the deed, hips pumping mechanically until at last, Voldemort told him to come. The boy was discarded in a heap once the deed was done, and Thaddeus’s bruised nephew followed by the Lady Nott’s two brothers were called up next before opening the queue to the general assemble.

“Now, then, Thaddeus, it is mostly assured that your young lady wife will be successfully bred before morning,” Lord Voldemort began, once again turning to the decrepit wizened wizard. “We will have to wait, of course, until the child is born to determine who’s seed was most successful, but until that time, I’m sure you’ll be most gracious to help see to Cecilia’s needs as she helps promote our future, isn’t that right, Thaddeus?”

“Of course, my lord. It is as you say,” the wizard mumbled.

“Very good.” Voldemort nodded, face not revealing any real emotion. “I must confess, Thaddeus, I’m disappointed. You’ve had plenty of time to breed your wife since my mandate went out, yet you haven’t. Nor have you requested the aid of our potions to help ease the way. I thought I had made it clear that all available members were to be contributing. If this endeavor is to succeed, we must rebuild and surplus our numbers.”

“My lord, I’m sorry. I—“

“I do not care for excuses, Nott. I care for results. It is not enough if only you successfully impregnated our stock. Your wife’s blood must also be passed on.” He pretended to think for a moment, staring off at the wall where the two girls had been deposited. They were red faced and snotty from crying, but still, they could have been considered pretty by some. Then again, prettiness rarely mattered in these situations. “Your daughters are of an age, aren’t they? Almost ready to Hogwarts?”

“My lord, I…. yes. The eldest is already eleven, the youngest will turn eleven in August. Old enough to both start Hogwarts next year.”

“Very good. Old enough then. Your daughters will not be going to Hogwarts next year, Thaddeus. Instead they will be sacrificed to the breeding program to help supplement the loss of their uncles.”

If the man had thought to say something in protest, it wouldn’t have mattered. Voldemort had already turned away from him, summoning the two girls from their shackles and rebinding them to the two newly conjured breeding chairs positioned to either side of the mother’s, easily within her sight. The masses cheered and rushed towards the two bound little girls, but Voldemort quickly stopped them.

“There is a process,” he reminded them. “Pike will administer the appropriate potions. Then Lord Nott will be first, followed by the young heir, and then any present remaining family members. After that, you may then all have your chance.”

And then the process began again, repeating with the two girls, ten and eleven, strapped into two breeding benches and force fed fertility potions as first their father, and then their brother, and then their nephew and uncles were forced upon them before the throng of strangers descended.

The Notts stood as a warning to the other families, and Voldemort was more than pleased to see many of his more reluctant followers approach Pike to procure several vials of potion before slinking away, back to their homes and families, their wives and young daughters.

Voldemort smiled, pleased, and then went off to find his own young mate, satisfied that his warning had been well received. It was unlikely that he would have to sit through another one of these such spectacles, but his death eaters now knew it was possible.

 

****&&****

 

The nightmares still came. Harry wasn’t sure why he sometimes could see into the world of his enemies, why he could sometimes spy on Voldemort from time to time. Most of the time he didn’t much care for the reasons. He either wished it would stop so he could just rest peacefully for once, or he wished the images would be clearer, that he could actually focus on the faces or details, hear what they were saying and not just the skewed impressions of what was occurring.

Because that was the rub of his nightmares. With Voldemort aware of their connection, no image or sound was clear to him unless Voldemort wished it so or wasn’t paying attention. Harry had no control over his nightmares. It was frustrating. As frustrating as the nightmares themselves.

Because they weren’t just nightmares. No, Harry knew that they were flashes of images of real things. The torture and abuse of real people. People he didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t have to know them to care about them. They were human beings, and they didn’t deserve the trauma Voldemort and his goons were putting them through.

Throughout his sixth year, when Dumbledore and he had started their bi-monthly tea-chats, Harry had shared every scrap of detail he could remember from his nightmares. The problem was, there wasn’t much in the way of details. Dumbledore had assured him they had people—both members of the order and ministry aurors—investigating the whereabouts and doings of the death eaters. They took Harry’s account of there being houses set up for the prisoners as a solid tip… but nothing had come from it, as far as Harry was aware.

Harry had wanted to rant and rave at Dumbledore and the ministry—why weren’t they doing more? Why hadn’t they found those houses yet? It was his summer talks with Andromeda and Edward Tonks that helped him understand the scope of helplessness they were faced with. Most of the older families had at least one home which was known to the public, and another more private home. Some of the families kept winter and summer homes. Others had cottages and lodges tucked away. Some had castles or keeps, relics of their ancient history. And not just anyone could access another person’s estate records. Those were guarded zealously by the goblins of Gringotts. Added to that was magic. There were family wards to deal with and privacy wards, and a slew of other magics and spells one could have layered over a residence to make it impossible for others to find. He knew that from experience—Grimauld Place was still covered in the fidelius charm after all.

But knowing why it was taking so longer didn’t help him feel any better when he knew there were men and women being hurt. Innocent people being hurt because of Voldemort.

When he woke up fresh from a nightmare, the images were clearest. He’d tried going to Dumbledore then, but the words never came out clearly, and really, by the time he was explaining, the images had reduced to impressions. He’d tried writing it down, but the same thing happened. As he tried to write about what he saw… the images seemed to fade away, leaving him with mixed impressions and a raw soul.

Harry had wanted to search every inch of the country, but Ron had pointed out that would take too long. Hermione had suggested scrying for better results, but that had turned up no results, either.

Frustrated, with seemingly no way to solve the problem, Harry had turned his energies to the Astronomy Tower to vent his angry helplessness in long, loud screams and yells into the night air. It was how Neville had found him. In Neville, he’d found a sympathetic ear, a person who would let him rant and rave all he needed at the sheer inability to do something, to help the people he knew were hurting and needing help. Neville had become his rock. Solid, steady, dependable. And now he had become more—his lover, his mate, a member of his pard.

Other people might underestimate Neville Longbottom, but he never would. Neville was solid, surefast. His even-steady voice could talk Harry back from some of his most ferocious rages—the ones where he just wanted to go out and slaughter all the death eaters and their families and basically reboot the world. Neville was his consciousness. But Neville wasn’t here.

He was still in his nightclothes, the impression if not the images from his nightmare still beating through his mind as he raced down the stairs and tried to floo to the last place he’d known Nott and his family to be… but the Nott floo was closed against visitors.

Harry fell to his knees in the kitchen of Grimauld Place, panting and heaving, beating his fists against the stone floor. He hadn’t seen everything, but he’d seen enough. He knew what those monsters were doing to people—doing to Nott and his family. He had to do something to stop it, but what?

Not that it mattered in this moment.  Harry fell asleep on the kitchen floor. When he awoke the next morning, he would find himself back in his bed courtesy of Remus, who had wakened early himself.  Harry would remember only that something horrible had happened over the course of the night, that more innocent people had been hurt. But he wouldn't remember falling asleep before the floo or trying desperately to reach the Notts.  The faces and names of the people he had seen tortured will have been blurred from his memory once again. 

~~~*****~~~

\- Saturday, December 12, Portofino, Italy-

By the time they were ready to leave, more than half the day had passed, so they agreed to stick closer to home. As a result, Blaise took his two mates into the downtown portion of Portofino where they poked around a few shops and had a lite tea before returning to his villa.

“It’s actually a quiet town,” Blaise apologized.

“It’s lovely,” Luna proclaimed.

“Looks like you’ve got some mail while we were out,” Neville noted, spying several envelopes on the table as they entered the kitchen.

Blaise picked them up. “Here, this one is from Hannah,” he said, handing it off to Neville. “These all look to be from family and friends,” he noted, flipping through the rest of the pile. “What does she have to say?”

Neville looked at the letter he was holding. “It’s addressed to you. Don’t you want to read it?” he asked, slightly embarrassed to be holding someone else’s mail.

Blaise shot a look towards Luna, who was smiling pleasantly. Then, shaking his head, he took the letter back from Neville, trading it for a quick little kiss. “You are sweet, bello, but what is mine, is yours, and don’t forget that to the world at large, Hannah is your girlfriend. Some curiosity over what she might be writing to another guy is expected.”

Neville shrugged. “She’ll probably write all of us when she can’t reach us through the floo,” he pointed out. “As long as she’s safe.”

“She is,” Blaise answered, skimming through the letter. “Apparently she’s in the Netherlands. Quite a good distance from death eater activity. She sounds sad, though,” he added, offering the letter once again. “We should invite her and her friend to join us.”

“That’s a lovely idea,” Luna approved. “Would you like to respond now? The invitation really should come from you as this is your family’s villa.”

Blaise laughed. “All right, all right. I think you’re feeling outnumbered with just Neville and I for company,” he teased with a wink as he went to retrieve his writing things.

“Not out-numbered,” Luna corrected lightly, “Though maybe a little spoiled with you all to myself.”

As he was writing out the invitation for Hannah and her friend to join them in Italy, another owl arrived. “We’re quite popular today,” he said, surprised. Even with such a large family as his, they didn’t write very often—preferring to simply pop in on one another.

Luna greeted the snowy owl while he finished up his letter. “Hello, Hedwig,” she cooed, holding out her arm for the owl to land.

Neville looked up from where he’d been lightly dozing on the sofa. “Hedwig? I thought she stayed at Hogwarts.”

Blaise looked up from his own letter. “She has multiple letters,” he noted. “Who all from?”

“Hermione, it looks like. And Hannah,” she answered, handing over a letter addressed to Neville in Hannah’s hand, keeping her own letter and opening the one from Hermione first. “OH!”

“What?” Neville asked, sitting up now. “Is everyone all right?”

“Death eaters attacked Hermione’s parents’ home last night,” she informed them, reading through the letter quickly. “They were captured but escaped. She says Theodore Nott helped them,” she added shooting a worried look towards Blaise. After all, that was his dorm mate. Blaise frowned but didn’t say anything. “They’re safe now in an order safe house with Professor Lupin.”

“Professor Lupin?” Blaise questioned. “But isn’t he a werewolf?”

“Yeah, but he’s also an old time friend of Harry’s dad,” Neville explained. “He’s like an honorary uncle to Harry.”

“Oh-kay,” Blaise accepted before turning his attention back to Luna. “They’re safe, but were they hurt?”

“A bit,” Luna murmured. “It seems Harry had to have his leg regrown, but other than that, just a few bumps and bruises. Hermione says they’re fine and Madame Pomphrey has already seen to them.”

“What about her parents?” Neville asked.

“They managed to get out unharmed,” Luna confirmed. “They’re with Harry and Hermione. She’s asking if we’re all okay. Apparently, she tried flooing Neville’s and learned that we’d all taken off to Italy with Blaise.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about meeting the in-laws per say,” Blaise hedged, “And it might be bit of a squeeze with Hannah’s friend, too, but I’m sure we could make it work, if Hermione wanted to bring her parents here…?”

“They would have to floo in the way we did, right?” Neville replied. “Not sure how a muggle would take with all those floo connections.”

“It should probably be Hermione and her parents’ choice, though,” Luna pointed out. “Shall we write them a response?”

“Err, I suppose we can’t just write a group message?” Neville asked.

“I’ve already written Hannah and invited her and her friend down,” Blaise returned. “Someone else can do the writing.”

“You’re so silly sometimes,” Luna mused, taking her wand from her hair and tapping Blaise’s quill. A quick charm later, the quill was ready to record.

 

“Dear Hermione and Harry,  
We’re very well. It’s lovely in Italy. Blaise has extended an invitation to Hannah and Susan Bones to join us. And now he would like to extend the same invitation to you. Isn’t that right, Blaise.

Yes, yes, of course. As I said, the more the merrier. Although, too many, and we might get a bit tight. But she and Harry are very welcomed indeed to join us.

Is that just recording for you—oh! Is there any way to erase that? I mean… ah…

Neville says hello, too.

Hi!

I was staying with him when Blaise popped in. One thing led to another—

\--as it so often does—

\--and we ended up spending the night. Or rather we would have, but it appears Neville’s grandmother wasn’t too pleased with the situation.

Right pissed off her rocker, I should say. Still a bit peeved at her myself.

Yes, well, Blaise offered his accommodations, and we relocated sometime in the early morning, I think. Italy is lovely. You really should join us.

Yes, you should.

Blaise’s place is right on the water. Like, literally, you step outside and take the stairs right into the Mediterranean. It’s unbelievable.

We spent the morning swimming, and then Blaise showed us around town this afternoon. He’s promised to take us anywhere in Italy or France we want to go. I was thinking of visiting Pompeii. Should we wait for you to join us?

Love,  
Luna, Neville, and Blaise”

**  
\- Later that Saturday, Grimauld Place, London-

Harry huffed, tossing another folder to the side of the desk.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Remus asked gently from the doorway.

“Hey, Remus,” Harry greeted. “Just trying to make sense of these portfolios. Really, they don’t look any easier to decipher than they did this summer.”

“Have you worked on them at all while at school?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “I had other things to focus on.”

“Are you looking for something in particular, or are you just trying to get them organized?”

“A little of both?” Harry hedged. “I mean, yeah, they need to get organized, but I’m also looking for a suitable house to set up for home. I don’t want Grimauld Place,” he hurried to put in before the other man could offer to leave, “It doesn’t suit our needs.”

“What are your needs?” Remus asked, finally entering the room even though he wasn’t invited.

Harry motioned him towards the sofa, getting up as well to take a break from the folders, and calling Winky for some tea. “I know it needs to be big enough for all of us,” he began explaining, “and that’s just the house. There’s six of us now. Luna seems to think they’ll be more—I don’t know how soon. Hannah thinks we might be forming a circle or something, and I think Hermione thinks she’s right, although she denies it when I ask her.”

“A circle?” Remus picked up on, surprised. “You mean a— “

“Yes, a real magical circle, coven, group of witches and wizards who share magic together,” Harry confirmed grimly. “Not that I’m necessarily against the idea, especially if it means more power to help destroy Voldemort and still protect everyone else, then, yeah, I’m totally up for the idea of building a circle, but that’s not all this is,” Harry huffed. “I mean, this is about me. My future. My family. I didn’t even think I’d have those things growing up.”

Remus shot him a questioning look.

“Look, Remus, it’s no surprise my life with the muggles wasn’t great, but the truth is… it really wasn’t great. They didn’t love me, they didn’t even like me. Sometimes I’m not even sure why they tolerated me living in their home. Uncle Vernon talked on and on about how they should have taken me to an orphanage, and you know what… I wish they had,” Harry quietly confessed. “I know Voldemort grew up in an orphanage, but that doesn’t mean I would’ve made the same choices he did, right? And I wouldn’t have had to listen to my aunt and uncle go on about how horrible it was having to spend money to feed and clothe me. Well, they barely fed me, and all my clothes were Dudley’s old cast offs, so they didn’t really clothe me properly, either. I’ve seen things at the Burrow—everyone talks about how the Weasleys have no money, but they all have their own clothes and they all eat. Maybe they don’t have a lot of fancy things, but they have what they need. I’ve been to Hermione’s house, too, now. That’s decent folks. Just because they don’t like you doesn’t mean they treat you like you’re rubbish.

“So, I know. I get it now. But back then, when I was a little kid, I didn’t. I didn’t get why my aunt and uncle who loved Dudley so much, hated me. You know, I really believed that I wasn’t lovable, that I didn’t deserve it or something. And I know now that isn’t true. I didn’t deserve their treatment then, and I don’t have to put up with it anymore. I’m an adult now. Well, mostly. And I have a pard—a family, people who are counting on me to take care of them. And I don’t know if I can honestly say that I love them, each and every one of them, but I’m fond of them all. I care about them—what happens to them and that they’re safe and happy. I know they care about me, too. And sure, it might have been because of the whole Vanteeria thing at first, but I honestly believe that we all genuinely care for one another now. And we’re building a future together. A life after Hogwarts, after Voldemort, where we’ll be all together for the rest of our days. And there’s going to be children, hopefully lots of children. So, sure, there’s six of us now, but in another two years, that number will be half as many more. And after that… well, who knows what exactly the future holds, so, yeah.”

Harry stopped, just as suddenly as the flood gates had opened and he’d poured all of that out onto Remus, he just stopped. And waited.

Remus shifted, as if to get up from the sofa. And then he paused, gesturing incomprehensibly to Harry. “May I?” he requested, gruffly.

Still puzzled by what the older man wanted, Harry nodded… and watched in confusion as Remus did push up off the sofa and then pulled Harry up out of his chair, enveloping the younger man in a fierce, tight, strong-armed embrace. After several moments of not being sure what exactly to do, Harry patted Remus’s side and back.

Still not letting go, Remus finally began to speak. “I know you never asked, but I want you to know that not a day goes by that I don’t regret not chasing after you. I wasn’t here, when your parents… I was away on Order business, trying to sway some of the other werewolves… I didn’t even find out until a few days later… and when I returned… it was all over. Everything was gone—you, Sirius, Peter, your parents… you were all gone. I did ask after where you were, but of course, no one but Dumbledore knew. There were plenty of rumors, but nothing of the truth. I was in a horrible depression, having lost my entire pack, and the full moons were even worse. I would have little fantasies sometimes, where I found you and took you away to raise by myself. Sometimes in my family’s cottage, sometimes in a flat in the muggle world. I’d work myself up to believing it was something actually possible, that I was going to go to Dumbledore and demand he tell me where you were…. But then the full moon would come, and I would remember why it was impossible. You were the pack’s pup, the only other surviving member of my pack… but I knew I was also a danger to you, and so each and every time, I convinced myself, you were better where you were at, wherever that was.

“Werewolves aren’t allowed to marry. They’re not allowed to have children. And if they already have children, they’re not allowed legal access to those children. Without Dumbledore’s support, there was no legal way I would have ever been allowed to keep you, even if I did find you. But I thought about it. I dreamed about it. And there’s not a day since I’ve seen you again that I didn’t still wish I had found you sooner. But at thirteen, you were nearly full grown, you didn’t need me, but I was so excited to see you, so proud of the person you had become, this gangly young man. And each and every year, every chance I get to hear more or see more of you, I’m undeniably proud and humbled by the person you’re becoming, because you are simply that wonderful, and I hurt. I ache for the missed opportunities, for myself, for your parents, for Sirius… because they don’t get to see how wonderful you are, to see what a good person their son grew to be… because I know how intensely proud of you your parents were, and I wish you could know it, too. Because they loved you so very, very much, Harry. You were and are loved, so very, very much.”

Remus pulled back, gripping Harry by the arms, staring him in the face with tear-red eyes and damp face. He reached up and cupped Harry’s equally damp face. “There is no one I know more deserving of being surrounded by the unconditional love of a circle.” He laughed suddenly. “Even if it is a bit unconventional even for today’s modern standards!”

Remus released him, turning around to take a moment and clear his voice and regain his composure. He settled himself back onto the sofa. “So, you need a home large enough for your current pard—pard, right? —and potentially a full circle—are you thinking twelve, thirteen adults then? —not to mention all the future children six couples can produce.”

“Off the top of my head, I can’t recall any properties that would really fit what you’ll probably need. I mean, I remember James going through something very similar to you right now when he was about your age. Actually, yes,” Remus recalled thoughtfully. “He was almost exactly the same age when his parents, your grandparents, took ill and finally succumbed to their illness. It was awful. We all adored Mr. and Mrs. Potter—they were like grandparents, if not extended parents to the group of us. Your father was already on the road to maturing, as you know, when your mother agreed to start dating him that year, but it was when his parents passed in the spring of, oh… ’78, that’s when James really grew up.

“I remember nights of him sitting up in the common room after all of us had finished our NEWTs revision, and he’d still be at the table with his papers and paperwork, going through the Potter estate portfolios…” Remus trailed off. “He started talking about stocks and investments, like any of us had a clue what he was talking about. It was your mother who convinced him to invest some small amounts in different muggle products.”

“Yes, I saw those,” Harry piped up. “I’d wondered at them, because, well, they were muggle, but then I saw the dates on the original transactions, and I figured it must have had something to do with my mum’s influence. Not all of them panned out,” he confessed, “but some of them made a pretty good payout. Did you know I have shares of both IBM and Apple? I mean, those are two major computer companies in the muggle world.”

Remus smiled and nodded. “I’m not surprised. Your mum was an advocate of a well-rounded experience. You know she even insisted we all learn how to drive an automobile and ride a bicycle? She said if she was going to learn how to ride a broomstick, we could be bothered to ride a bicycle. Of course, Sirius had to take it a step further with his motorcycle. Lily wasn’t best pleased with that. Told him not to come around to her if he cracked his skull open.”

Harry smiled sadly. “I know the idea of how to ride a bike, but I’ve actually never been on one, even though I grew up in the muggle world. Hermione, though, wants to get her motor’s license, and I was thinking of going for one myself. I should probably see if the others want to learn, too. Take us all someplace this summer where we can learn together. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” Remus agreed, but his thoughts were still on the idea that Harry had never ridden a bicycle.

“Any way, it won’t matter much if we don’t all have a safe place to go. Right now the others are in Italy, well, except for Hannah, and we’re going to go join them tomorrow.

“Will you be missing Christmas then?” Remus asked, startled.

Harry grimaced. “Andromeda would kill me if I tried to miss out on Christmas dinner.”

“She’s apparently making a traditional Black Family Feast, according to Dora,” Remus chuckled.

“Don’t laugh,” Harry warned. “You have to show up, too. Yes, we’ll be there, all of us. I’ve even told Hannah to bring Susan along—no one should be alone for Christmas dinner. No, we’ll make it to dinner, but we’re going to spend Christmas morning in Italy and then work our way through Blaise’s family. Not necessarily looking forward to that. Susan’s invited us back to her family’s ancestral estate for Boxing Day, and we’re also going to be paying a visit to Neville’s parents at Saint Mungo’s. After that… well, really, I’m still hoping to have found us a place to live.”

“You know Grimauld Place will always be available to you.”

“It’s yours, Remus. I don’t care that the deed can’t have your name on it because of some asinine law,” Harry groused. “And while I’m grateful for the offer, and I appreciate knowing I’ll always have a safe haven in a pinch, this place will never be a home to me. Maybe, if Sirius was still here, but… well, he isn’t.”

“I understand, and thank you. I appreciate having a place to stay.”

“You’re family, Remus. No matter what blood or time may say. Pack stays together,” he said, firmly clasping Remus’s arms. “And I’m going to need a baby sitter and tutor for all these kids I’m supposedly going to be having.”

Remus huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know how good of a baby sitter I’d be, an old wolf like me.”

“Bah! You’re barely into your prime. And you’re certainly not too old to keep up with the likes of Tonks,” Harry teased. “You should really think about making a somewhat respectable woman out of her.”

“About that…”

“Oh? Have you decided to pop the question then?” Harry asked excitedly

“Well, you know that legally, in the wizarding world, we can’t marry…”

“Muggle world would have nothing against it.”

“True, and well I know I need to speak to her head of house and her father to ask for permission…”

“Have you already a ring?” Harry grinned toothily. “If not, I’m sure there are some in the Potter or better yet, the Black vaults somewhere.”

“So I take it you would be agreeable to my asking Dora to marry?”

“I think it’s great, but it’s not like you need my permission to marry her.”

“Well, actually, technically, you’re her head of family, since Edward is muggleborn and has no family ties to the magical world. Magically abiding, you would need to give your approval.”

“Hn. Well, consider it given then, I guess. So, rings?”

“I have one, yes. It was my grandmother’s ring. Dora’s not a real fancy jewelry type, so I think she’ll appreciate the simplicity of it.”

“I look forward to seeing it on her finger—by Christmas dinner?”

“If she says yes,” Remus allowed.

“She’s crazy about you. She’d be even more crazy to say anything other than yes!”

***  
\- later Saturday night-

By that evening, Harry had finished skimming through his portfolios, looking specifically for residential properties. He hadn’t had the chance to actually look at what those properties entailed, but at least that first step was done. Between the Potter and Black dossiers, it looked like he had seven different potential properties. He set them aside to peruse later.

He left the ground floor dining room—the only place with enough surface area for him to spread out and go through his portfolios—and debated: downstairs kitchen or upstairs family room. Knowing Hermione, she was probably upstairs with a book or three. Which reminded him—he still had holiday homework to contend with, too.

Only a student for half a year more, and then… Well, wasn’t that a scary thought? He’d been a student for most of his known life. What was he going to do once school was over? Sure, he could go out for being an Auror, but… did he really want to spend the rest of his life hunting down bad wizards? No, not really. But, he couldn’t just do nothing, either.

Hermione and her parents were talking, again. Really, to Harry it sounded a lot more like polite arguing. True to her prediction, they hadn’t taken the fact that she was in a polyamorous relationship very well. It was just as well she and he were leaving tomorrow morning to join Blaise and the others in Italy—he was actually quite excited for his first trip out of the UK. Not so excited to interrupt the conversation going on. Hermione’s parents like him even less now than they did last night. Not only had he managed to knock up their only daughter, he’d made her a larger target for terrorists, assisted in wrecking their home and locking them in a shed, gotten their daughter hurt in the fight, gotten their daughter kidnapped… oh, and involved her with multiple lovers, one of which was also pregnant with his child. Yep, not exactly a favorite person of the Grangers.

Ah, well. Onward Gryffindor, he thought, entering the room. “Hey,” he greeted, drawing attention to himself.

“Harry,” Hermione greeted gratefully. “Done going through your files finally?”

“Well, not all the way, no, but I’ve pulled out a list of possible properties—all residential. I’ll take them with us tomorrow and look at them later.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“I can’t say I approve,” George Granger grumbled.

“Dad, we talked about this,” Hermione huffed, more than a little exasperated at the whole situation now. She loved her parents, but she really wished they’d accept the decisions she’d made for herself. She leaned just a little bit against Harry, as if to soak up his warmth and support.

“If you want to head down stairs,” Harry interrupted, eager to avoid the pair launching into another uncomfortable argument. “I think Winky’s about ready to put dinner on the table.”

“Oh, is it that late already?” Patricia Granger asked, surprised. “Everything just seems so surreal today.”

“Mum, are you sure you want to go back tomorrow?”

“It’s our home, Hermione,” her mother responded. “We will not be forced out of it by some terrorists. We’ll do as you suggested, and hire someone to add those protective shields around the house— “

“Wards.”

“Yes, and we’ll look at having some erected around the practice,” the elder Granger continued. “We’ll have a phone line extended to the shed so we can call for help if something like this should happen again. And we will continue to live our lives.”

“I could probably hire some goblins to do the ward work,” Harry offered.

“Those strange fellows who run the Gringotts bank?”

“Yes, well, they do more than just manage finance,” Hermione supplied.

“They actually have a really good reputation for property warding,” Harry told them, before adding in an aside to Hermione, “Probably because they’ve got some of the best curse-breakers on staff.”

She grinned and bumped into him.

“Remus should be back soon,” Hermione went on.

“It was very good of him to offer to inspect the house and clean up a bit,” Trish murmured.

“Remus is good people,” Harry agreed. “He also said he’d check in on you two periodically, just to make sure you’re still doing okay.”

“We’ve been fine,” George gruffed, reaching over to place a hand on his wife’s back. “We’ll be fine.”

“What will be, will be,” Trish agreed. “We’ll make do and carry on.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Italy with us,” Hermione asked, hesitantly.

“We aren’t prepared for an extended holiday this year, Hermione. As it is, we’ve both patients waiting for us back at the practice tomorrow. And quite frankly, I don’t think your father or I are ready to see you around these other people yet.”

Hermione let the matter go. If she was truthful with herself—and she did try to be—she was sure she wasn’t ready for her parents to see her around the rest of the pard.

***&&&***

 

Kingsley arrived with Tonks early the next morning. Giving Hermione and Harry a searching look, he handed over the unassuming pocket watch.

“I imposed upon a coworker in the transportations office,” the dark skinned auror informed them. “I said it was for a friend who was courting an Italian witch near Genoa. The key phrase is ‘the Italian job’—apparently, it’s the title of an old movie.”

Harry smiled widely. “Thank you, Kingsley.”

The man nodded, still searching their faces carefully. “It’s a multi-use portkey,” he told them, watching the surprise suffuse their faces. “Tonks seemed to imply it might be a repeated journey.”

“What?” the other auror squawked, streaks of purple intermixing with her preferred pink-hued hair. “I never said that!”

Hermione’s smile, if anything, brightened, and she threw her arms around the broader man. “Thank you, Kingsley, that’s perfect! Thank you so much!”

“Where does it go between, exactly?” Harry wanted to know, looking at the pocket watch more closely.

“It will take you and whoever is touching it to the entrance to Via Garibaldi, an equivalent to Diagon Alley,” Kinglsey shared. “Upon return, you will arrive near the Leakey Cauldron. That seemed the safest generic coordinates without giving away your exact locations.”

Harry nodded. “That really is perfect. Thank you, Kingsley.”

“If I may, will you be visiting Italy often?”

Harry grinned. “Quite possibly.”

“Your excuse for acquiring it isn’t that far off,” Hermione supplied.

If anything, the older man looked more curious. Remus laughed and stepped forward, clapping a hand on the bigger man’s shoulder. “If I may?” he asked, looking towards Harry for permission to share the boy’s personal information. Receiving a nod, Remus looked back towards his girlfriend’s partner.

“Harry is in a mate ship with several others,” the old wolf explained, watching with amusement as someone else learned of this truth for the first time. He was impressed to see only the smallest indications of shock as surprise from Shacklebolt, but then, the wizard was extremely good. “One of them actually does live near Genoa, and they learned just the other day that two more of their mate ship traveled there unexpectantly to be with him now. They’ve been rather antsy ever since they showed up here, really, so I asked Tonks to see if she couldn’t scrounge up a portkey that would get them closer to their destination. I really didn’t want Harry flooing across Europe, you understand. And I somehow rather doubt Hermione would be willing to fly there.”

“Hey!” both teens chimed in stereo, mock offense coloring their faces.

“I never expected a multi-use portkey, though,” Remus mused.

“This really is quite generous,” Hermione agreed. “Thank you, Auror Shacklebolt.”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Harry added, holding his hand out towards the auror. “You didn’t have to do this at all, but we really do appreciate your assistance.”

He looked down at the young man, calculatingly, and then a large, wide smile broke out across his face. “A mate ship, eh? Congratulations, Mr. Potter. In this case, I will consider it well worth the favor. Especially as it will allow you some level of safety for you and your mates.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied demurely.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry agreed, grinning widely. “We’ll be back in time for Christmas dinner—Andy might skin and fillet us, if we weren’t. Will you be joining us? At least five of the six of us will be there—maybe all six?” He shot a questioning look towards Hermione.

“I haven’t heard back from Hannah, yet,” she reminded him. “We’ll find out if she and Susan join us in Italy or not. If they do, then they’ll join us for dinner, too.”

Harry nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“This is their first extended time apart,” Remus supplied. “They lasted about a day from what I can tell before they started pining.”

“Less,” Hermione snapped. “But who’s counting.”

Tonks snorted. “Not you, right?”

Hermione looked away, but then looked back. “Thank you for your help, Tonks. We’ll see you again for Christmas?”

“Of course! I’d have to be dead or stuck at work to missed one of my mother’s holiday meals. You two have fun on the Riviera.”

“Oh, we will, don’t worry,” Hermione returned, grinning, before adding, “Harry’s never seen me in a bathing suit before.”

Harry shot her a grin. “No, but I’ve seen you in a lot less.”

“Harry!” Hermione shouted, scandalized while the others laughed a bit.

Harry frowned as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “This is safe for you?”

“I’m be perfectly fine,” Hermione scoffed, waving off his worry. “Especially if you can manage not to land on me.”

He nodded and grinned, accepting her answer at face value. “Then let’s get going. The sooner we’re there, the sooner we can meet up with everyone.”

“Oh, but I want to look around the Via Garibaldi while we’re there,” Hermione put in. “Just a bit.”

“It’s never just a bit with you, Hermione,” Harry huffed, noting the other’s amused miens. “But all the more reason to get going now. Remus, Kingsley, Tonks, thanks again for your assistance.”

“We really do appreciate it,” Hermione added, stepping up into Harry’s side and reaching for the portkey.

“No problem,” Tonks scoffed before turning a knowing eye towards them. “Harry, you just keep a look out for yourself and try and stay out of trouble, you hear?”

“I try, but trouble seems to find me anyway.”

“Take care of yourself, pup,” Remus added, resisting the urge to rush the teen and pull him into another crushing hug. Instead, he quietly reached over for Tonks’s hand. “I’m happy you’ve found people to be happy with.”

“You, too, Remus. Don’t be such a stranger, huh? You’ve got a couple of great-nieces or nephews on the way. I want them to know their uncle Remus.”

Remus practically beamed. “I would be honored.”

Both Tonks’s and Shacklebolt’s eyes went wide as they turned to look assessing at the younger witch. “Wait,” Tonks spluttered. “What? Is Hermione--?”

“Bye, everyone,” Hermione called. “See you in a week!”

And then she and Harry were being whisked away not even a second later. It was everything Harry had come to expect from a portkey—the gut-wrenching hook, the dizzying spinning, the jarring landing—but he managed to maintain his balance by half-running, half-jogging the last few steps. He nearly took Hermione off her feet as he outpaced her, and she dropped her hand quickly, leaning up to a nearby wall to catch her breath and calm her stomach.

“You all right?” he asked, jogging back towards her.

“I’m fine. Just… a bit… disconcerting, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, big brown eyes—and then her focus looked past him, her eyes widening and brightening with delight. A delight that spread across the rest of her face as she stood up fully and looked around their surroundings. “We’re really in Italy,” she said in awe.

“That was the plan,” he said, looking around himself curiously. “You know, I’ve never been out of Brittan before. Until Hogwarts, I’d never been outside England.”

“We’ll travel all over the world,” she promised. “I’ll take you to some of my favorite places, and we’ll visit new places together.”

“What about the others?”

“They can come, too, of course. If they want to. And if they don’t, think of it as free baby sisters,” she told him before spontaneously hugging him. “Come on, let’s get off this street and find an owl post shop. We can send a letter to Blaise and then spend some time looking around.”

“I guess we probably should have planned this trip a bit better, huh? What if Blaise and the others are out? They won’t get our post until later. We might be stuck here a while.”

“All the better to poke around and check things out. Come on. Let’s get started,” Hermione practically pleaded, tugging on his hand and quite possibly bouncing on her toes. It was a good thing their trunks were safely packed, shrunk, and tucked away inside Hermione’s clutch.

There was a special light and enthusiasm to Hermione’s mien that Harry was used to seeing only when a trip to the library was proposed or a new book was released. He found it more than mildly amusing that she showed such passion for visiting a new place, but then again, he supposed that made sense. Hermione loved learning new things, and what better way to learn new things than to visit a new country or location and discover those facts for yourself?

He followed her down the street until they found a posted placard pointing to the magical district. They followed the signs that lead them down an alley and to a rather nondescript door. Unsure, Hermione knocked and then pushed the door open. The door actually led into another alley, surprisingly. They followed that down until they arrived at an archway. On the other side, the street was alive and bustling with magical folk out shopping or trading their goods.

 

*********  
Still to come…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me: here's another chapter. I actually had started revising this last weekend when someone dropped a line asking about an update, but it took me until today to actually get back and finish it up. I'm sure there are at least half a dozen typos and mistakes. Oh well. Hopefully, I'll pick up on them on the next read through.  
> Additional Note: There are approximately 40K more words written for this story, although key scenes are missing, so it will be at least three weeks before I post again but hopefully not another three months...


	32. Pard Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How lovely does a vacation on the Italian Riviera sound...? The pard interacts outside of Hogwarts.

32 – Pard Reunited – 

~THEN~

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Italy with us,” Hermione asked her parents hesitantly. 

“We aren’t prepared for an extended holiday this year, Hermione,” her mother reminded her. “As it is, we’ve both patients waiting for us back at the practice tomorrow. And quite frankly, I don’t think your father or I are ready to see you around these other people yet.” 

Hermione let the matter go. If she was truthful with herself—and she did try to be—she was sure she wasn’t ready for her parents to see her around the rest of the pard, either. 

Kingsley arrived with Tonks early the next morning. Giving Hermione and Harry a searching look, he handed over the unassuming pocket watch. 

“I imposed upon a coworker in the transportations office,” the dark skinned auror informed them. “It’s a multi-use portkey. I said it was for a friend who was courting an Italian witch near Genoa. The key phrase is ‘the Italian job’—apparently, it’s the title of an old movie. It will take you and whoever is touching it to the entrance to Via Garibaldi, an equivalent to Diagon Alley,” Kinglsey shared. “Upon return, you will arrive near the Leakey Cauldron.” 

Harry smiled widely. “Thank you, Kingsley.” 

“Bye, everyone,” Hermione called. “See you in a week!” 

And then she and Harry were being whisked away not even a second later. It was everything Harry had come to expect from a portkey—the gut-wrenching hook, the dizzying spinning, the jarring landing—but he managed to maintain his balance by half-running, half-jogging the last few steps. He nearly took Hermione off her feet as he outpaced her, and she dropped her hand quickly, leaning up to a nearby wall to catch her breath and calm her stomach. 

“You all right?” he asked, jogging back towards her. 

“I’m fine. Just… a bit… disconcerting, isn’t it?” She looked up at him, big brown eyes—and then her focus looked past him, her eyes widening and brightening with delight. A delight that spread across the rest of her face as she stood up fully and looked around their surroundings. “We’re really in Italy,” she said in awe. 

“That was the plan,” he said, looking around himself curiously. “You know, I’ve never been out of Brittan before. Until Hogwarts, I’d never been outside England.” 

“We’ll travel all over the world,” she promised. “I’ll take you to some of my favorite places, and we’ll visit new places together.” 

There was a special light and enthusiasm to Hermione’s mien that Harry was used to seeing only when a trip to the library was proposed or a new book was released. He found it more than mildly amusing that she showed such passion for visiting a new place, but then again, he supposed that made sense. Hermione loved learning new things, and what better way to learn new things than to visit a new country or location and discover those facts for yourself? 

 

~NOW~

 

\- Sunday, December 17, Italy- 

 

Harry and Hermione were sitting outside a little café, having just sat down for lunch. Between them, they had quite a few packages—not all books. Hermione was still talking a mile a minute as she savored each bite of her farfalle tossed with chunks of snapper and stewed eggplant. She’d insisted he try a bit of it, and he’d admitted it was pretty good, but he was quite okay sticking with his creamy rice dish that had shrimp in it. Hermione had told him it was called a risotta, but he really didn’t care what it was called as long as it tasted good. And it did, so he was happy. 

They were sitting outside because, for one, the weather was very nice, especially when compared to the London weather they had left that morning, and two, they were still hoping to see or be seen by their mates. In the three hours they’d been traipsing through the magical shopping district of Genoa, they had yet to run into Blaise, Luna, or Neville. Their first priority had been to send off a letter to the three, telling them they were in Genoa. It was as close as they knew how to get at the moment. 

If they hadn’t run into the others before too much longer, Hermione had agreed to rent a room for the night and then tomorrow they would hire a cab to take them into Portofino, which was a smaller subset of the greater Genoa and closer still to where Blaise lived, but they still didn’t know his exact location, and they couldn’t very well just go wandering around asking after him. 

They were so close, and yet still so separated from their mates, and neither Harry nor Hermione were very happy about it. 

“I would like to visit the museum at some point—not today, obviously—and there’s several castles in the area that might be nice to check out.” 

“Hopefully you’ll make time to swim during all your planned adventures?” 

Hermione and Harry whipped around, large grins splitting their faces. “Blaise!” the young woman shouted, earning the attention of several others sitting on the patio outside the small restaurant. She was oblivious to them all as she launched herself at the other man, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. 

Surprised for only a minute, Blaise quickly caught her and returned her embrace. “Welcome to Italy,  mia bella regina del fuoco,” he whispered against the shell of her ear. 

Harry was standing now, too, seeing Neville and Luna next to Blaise, he reached for the two, pulling them both in for a hug at the same time. “It’s good to see you both safe and happy,” he said, kissing each one on the cheek nearest him. 

“We could say the same to you,” Neville replied, squeezing him tightly, once, and then letting go just in time to catch Hermione. “Hello, Hermione. Missed you, too.” 

“When your house elf said you had left, I was so worried,” she scolded, squeezing him as tightly as she had squeezed Blaise. 

“Not as worried as we were,” Blaise countered, pulling Harry towards him in greeting, “When we heard what had befallen you two. Welcome to Italy,  re del mio cuore.” 

Harry didn’t know what the Italian man said, but he accepted it as warmly as he accepted Blaise’s embrace. Blaise was always saying something—it had led to them all being bolder, more vocal with each other, especially during sexy times. The results were quite enjoyable, no matter how silly it sometimes seemed to talk so much during such an intimate time. Harry turned and caught the corner of Blaise’s lips in a kiss. 

“We missed you,” he whispered, and he could tell he surprised the other man by the slow blink Blaise responded with. “All of you,” Harry continued, pulling back a bit to catch Hermione and Luna greeting each other with little pecks to each cheek. “We just ordered some food, but we can cancel it if you’ve someplace for us to be?” 

“No place that can’t wait for good food,” Blaise countered, motioning for the attendant and requesting three more chairs be brought to the table and two menus in English if they had them. 

“So, is everyone really all right?” Neville asked once they were all sitting. “Hermione said you were hurt.” 

“All better,” Harry reassured him, squeezing his knee under the table. Neville reached for his hand and held it against him, and Harry gave him a little smile. “Madame Pomphrey saw fit to vanish my leg bone and regrow it, but as you can see, it’s all better now.” 

“It’s not all better,” Hermione snapped. “He healed too quickly, and as a result his leg muscles and tendons are all contracted and tight.” 

“So I have to stretch several times a day,” he brushed off negligently. “The leg works, that’s the main focus.” 

“Yes, see if you’re saying that when you wake up again in the middle of the night from another Charlie horse,” she huffed, earning a sympathetic wince from the other members. 

“Like I said, I have to stretch better. Maybe I can convince someone to help rub it and make it feel better,” he added wagging his eyebrows. 

“I don’t think it’s your leg any of us want to rub,” Luna replied, sipping on the drink the waiter brought them. 

“What happened?” Neville asked, tentatively testing his own drink. The little restaurant had not had an English menu, so once again Blaise had taken over ordering something for them. Neville didn’t mind too much—so far nothing the Slytherin had chosen for them had been unpleasant, although he and Luna had ended up exchanging plates the previous night, but not because either item had been unpleasant. 

“Death eaters,” Harry answered glumly. “What else?” 

“Several of them attacked my parents’ house the evening we got back,” Hermione added. “We’re just extremely lucky Harry and I had already started putting up the wards. If we had waited…” She looked nervously over at Harry. 

“We were outnumbered as it was,” Harry huffed. “We managed to get out of the house, and get Hermione’s folks hidden, but they came around back and found us. We weren’t so lucky and ended up getting caught.” 

“What?” Neville asked sharply, and even Luna and Blaise looked extra alarmed. “You were caught?” 

“Yeah. They managed to knock me and Hermione out. We woke up somewhere else.” 

“They had us chained up in the basement, wine cellar, really. We managed to get free, take out two more of the death eaters, and then made our escape.” 

“Not without help,” Harry reminded her. 

“No, not without help,” she agreed, looking over towards Blaise. “Apparently we were being held in Nott’s house. He helped us get to the floo and get out of there.” 

Blaise started. “Did anyone see his helping you?” he asked.

“No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure, why?” 

“Theo’s father is an old-time supporter of the dark lord. He’s pretty devoted—so much so, he apparently raised Theo believing that the Dark Lord would go and come back one day, and that they must be ready to serve him when he did. It has been a sore point within the dorms,” he said sadly, “Especially now that Draco is no longer supporting the Dark Lord.” 

“Does Nott support Voldemort then?” Harry wondered aloud, confused. 

“Not in his heart,” Blaise answered. “But he has two little sisters, and while they are still underage, his father can use the girls’ safety as a control over what Theo will do. If it means protecting his sisters, he will serve the dark lord. It’s one thing to do what you want when no one else will be effected and your father somewhat protects you from the fall out of your actions, but it is quite another when your father is insistent upon your obeying his expectations. We were all surprised when we learned Draco’s father had allowed him to avoid the dark lord’s service without killing him.” 

“Lucius did publicly disinherit Draco, though,” Harry pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Neville agreed. “Everyone knows Draco’s no longer the Malfoy heir. In fact, Harry, didn’t you make a bit of a show of inviting the ferret back into the Black Family?” 

“It wasn’t a big show,” he countered, “But, yeah, I did formally offer him succor within the family of his mother’s bloodline. It at least provided him with some backup on a public front.” 

Blaise nodded. “Then you understand what is really occurring?” 

“Draco and I have had a few talks over the last couple of months,” Harry supplied. “We’ve come to a bit of an understanding between the two of us. Yeah, I know his father hasn’t completely cut him off. Say anything you will about the man, but I won’t doubt his loves his son and was fond of his wife.” 

Hermione reached across Blaise to touch Harry. 

“Would Nott’s father really have him killed?” Neville asked, a bit nervous and very uncomfortable at the thought of any parent purposefully harming their child. 

“Theo’s father would,” Blaise confirmed sadly. “Or, if he couldn’t reach Theo, he would hurt one of his daughters.” 

“A father would really do that, to his own daughters?” Hermione asked aghast. 

“Without a second thought,” he confirmed. “He is not a good man. He cares little for his family, his children. Not even his lady wife. Theo’s mother died in childbirth. The only reason his father remarried is because his grandfather demanded it of him. I am told they were contracted for two children, and when both children were daughters and not sons, Nott Sr threatened to beat and drown the babes, but the contract did not specify the children had to survive, only they had to be birthed, so Lady Nott’s duty to her husband had been fulfilled and she swore never to lie with the man again. Theo spent much of his years trying to protect his sisters from their father’s violent tempers, but no one has ever been there to shield him. More than once, he has returned from a visit home covered in bruises.” 

“That’s horrible.” 

“Yes, it is. We’d been after Theo for years to get help, or to at least try and spend the holidays with one of us. He has always refused, so there was very little we could do for him.” 

“We’ll have to keep an eye on him when we get back, then,” Harry suggested, but not really. “He helped us, so if there’s some why we can help him back we’ll do it.” 

“There is not much to do when one does not want to be helped.” 

“We’ll try anyway. What about you guys?” he asked, redirecting the conversation. “How’d you all wind up here?” 

The three exchanged looks, as if to say: Do you want to go first? No? You go first. 

Luna went first. “Well, as you know, we each went our separate ways from Kings Cross. I went home but discovered Daddy was engrossed in his studies. Neville came to visit, as you knew he would. We strengthened my family’s ward stone and then I returned to Neville’s home with him.” 

“I arrived home and learned my mother would be out of town for the entire holiday. She invited me to join her, but I had no desire to visit Greece again, and decided I’d much rather be with one of you than alone, so I flooed back to England and then called Neville up. He invited me through, and I learned Luna was also there.”

“My gran wasn’t home when everyone arrived, so she didn’t know, I don’t think. Still not sure what she came into my room for, but what have you. She did, and she saw the three of us sleeping together, and she just sort of… lost it, I guess. Said some things I didn’t like, I said some things she didn’t like. One thing led to another, and before you know it, we were hopping through the floo network to reach Blaise’s home here in Italy. I guess, maybe, we could have gone to Luna’s,” he said thoughtfully. “Stayed in England.” 

“But Italy is so much better this time of year,” Luna concluded. “And Blaise has a lovely little villa, right on the water.” 

“I look forward to seeing it,” Hermione replied. 

“Maybe I can actually take some time and learn how to swim,” Harry muttered. 

“Well, if you need or want it, there’s plenty of gillyweed,” Neville supplied. “It grows naturally in these waters.” 

“Yeah, no thanks,” Harry smiled weakly. “Tried it before. Not too anxious to try it again.” 

“Neville, have you spoken to your grandmother since you got here?” Hermione asked. 

“No. I can’t say I’m ready to, either,” the larger boy grumbled. “I’ll talk to her closer to Christmas, maybe. Probably. How’d your parents react to Harry?” he asked, trying to deflect any more attention from himself. 

“It probably could have been better,” the vanteera admitted, pointedly not looking at Hermione as he scooped bit of his risotto onto a smaller plate and handed it to Luna. 

“I’m sure if someone didn’t just announce to my father that I was both bonded and pregnant already it would have gone better,” Hermione groused, intercepting the plate and adding some of her butterfly pasta before handing it over to Luna. “Would anyone else like some?” she asked, eyeing Neville who was already helping himself directly to Harry’s plate. 

“Grazie, mia bella,” Blaise responded, holding his mouth open. Bemusedly, Hermione scooped up a bit of her farfalle and offered him her fork. 

As if by magic, a minute later, a waitress swooped in with more plates for everyone and a platter of focaccia and assorted cheeses. Another waiter was right behind her with two more platters—one with a variety of shell fish, the other cured meats, fruits and vegetables. 

“Please enjoy,” the waitress told them in a heavy accent. 

“I think you might have ordered a bit much,” Hermione mused. 

“You’re in Italy,” Blaise countered. “You will eat well and often while you are here.” 

“I think he just wants to fatten us up,” Luna surmised, happily filling her plate with the different offerings. “So have your parents returned to their home, since I don’t see them here with you?” 

Hermione slumped. “They were insistent, yes,” she answered, somewhat melancholy. “They said they had to get back to work.” 

“That’s pretty brave of them,” Neville mused. “Not sure if I could handle going back to the place where I was attacked.” 

“Life must carry on,” Blaise reminded him. “Despite other’s actions upon us, we must continue to move forward.” 

“True that,” Harry agreed. “And along those lines, I took some time while we were stuck at the old place, to go through my portfolios. I’ve found a couple of pieces of real estate that I thought we might want to take a look at when we all get back.” 

“June does seem so far away, but I guess it’ll be here before we know it, huh?” Neville mused. 

“Not before NEWTs, though,” Hermione fussed. “I guess, if you got into it with your grandmother, you didn’t have a chance to talk to her about moving Luna’s testing schedule up, did you?” 

“Sorry, Hermione.” 

“Not your fault, Neville. I wasn’t meaning to sound so… I mean, what is, is. I’m not angry or disappointed in you or anything. Just thinking we’ll need to come up with another way if we can’t hope to use your grandmother’s influence.” 

“Maybe when we get back to Hogwarts we could ask McGonagall or Flitwick,” Harry suggested. “I’m sure there must have been other students before who have taken their NEWTs early, right?” 

“Yes, but I’ve never found where it says how to do it,” Hermione huffed. 

“And you never thought to just ask one of the teachers before?” Luna asked, amused. 

“No, quite honestly, there’s always something else on my mind until I remember again, and then I’m never near enough to a teacher to ask. I’m sorry, Luna. I should have made it more of a priority this year because of you.” 

“You have other more pressing things on your mind this year,” Luna countered. 

“Speaking of more pressing,” Harry interrupted, frowning a bit. “We learned Hermione’s stasis charm wore off. Madame Pomphrey was by to check my leg, and I asked her to check over Hermione, too.” 

“I’m fine,” she reiterated before anyone could ask again. 

“She cast it again, but when we get back to Hogwarts, both Hermione and Hannah have an appointment to meet with Madame Pomphrey and get checked over.” 

“Madame Pomphrey thinks I may be one of the few witches who are naturally repellent towards the stasis charm,” Hermione informed them. “My magic and my body might just naturally keep countering the spell.” 

“Oh, my,” Neville mumbled. “That won’t be good.” 

But Blaise’s eyes were alight in anticipation. “Speak for yourself,  mio nimfo ,” he practically purred, lifting Hermione’s hand to his lips. “I very much look forward to making love with  nostra regina  when her body has grown to accommodate our child.” 

“Our child?” Harry queried lightly. 

“Forgive me,  mio re ,” Blaise replied hastily, dropping Hermione’s hand and looking down at his plate. 

Harry reached out and slid his hand around the other man’s upper thigh, earning a quick glance from the Slytherin. “I like it,” he said, nodding and grinning before leaning over closer to whisper, “I like your suggestion even more.” 

Blaise smiled and dipped his head in a bob of acquiescence. 

“As much as I like the idea, too,” Neville spoke up, “It will complicate matters if both Hermione and Hannah are immune to the stasis spell.” 

“Let’s not invite trouble,” Luna responded, holding a piece of meat rolled around a slice of fruit up to Neville’s mouth. “We will deal with the situation as it arises. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the Italian Riviera, yes?” 

“Do you ‘know’ something, Luna?” Hermione asked, slightly suspicious, slightly worried. 

“I know a lot of things,” the Ravenclaw replied. “So do you. Why borrow trouble when it will surely find us soon enough.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Harry muttered, doing just that. 

Blaise and Neville laughed, grabbing their drinks as well. Hermione shook her head but reached for her own glass. “To enjoying good food and family?” 

“Good food, good friends, and even better lovers,” Blaise responded. 

“Good food, good friends, and excellent lovers,” Harry agreed. 

*** 

Hannah’s letter arrived that evening stating that she and Susan would be arriving the following day at Genoa Brignole station at 9:32 in the morning via portkey, and did Blaise know where that was because she really didn’t, but if they didn’t find one another right away, she and Susan would find a little café to sit and enjoy a cup of tea, and Susan was really looking forward to meeting everyone, officially as Hannah’s partners, and Hannah was really looking forward to seeing everyone again, and had they heard from Hermione and Harry, yet? 

“I don’t think she used one period,” Hermione mused, looking over the letter before handing it over to the others and returning to her travel book on Italy. 

“Well, at least one,” Neville teased, skimming the letter for himself and then passing it along. “There at the very end.” 

“Do we all want to go back into Genoa?” Harry asked, looking at everyone but mostly Blaise. Since it was his hometown he expected the other young man to have a stronger opinion one way or the other. 

“It will be early enough,” Blaise mused, “that if the girls are well and everyone is agreeable, we could visit Basilica di Santa Maria di Castello or Museo di Palazzo Reale.” 

“What’s that?” Neville asked before Harry could. 

“The first is a very beautiful church that also serves as a museum,” Blaise explained. “The other is quite literally the Royal Palace Museum.” 

“Ah, well, I think Hermione would definitely enjoy that,” Harry mused, looking over to where the young woman in question was busily marking off things to do when one visited Italy. “Luna as well, come to think of it.” 

“She would,” the girl in question responded from where she sat, cuddled up to Blaise on the little couch. “But I think Luna would enjoy the parks even more.” 

“There are many beautiful parks I could take you both to,” Blaise promised, playing with her hand and arm, leaning in to nuzzle her cheek. “I shall take you wherever you would like to go.” 

It turned out all the girls were quite well and agreeable to visiting a couple of museums the next day. Blaise had inquired of a family member where was more’s likely an international portkey from the Netherlands might set someone within the populous train station, and that’s where the five of them waited at a nearby café for the two fair ladies to arrive. 

Hannah had spotted them first and ran up to hug them all. “It’s so good to see you again!” she cried, squeezing the life from first Blaise and then Luna, and then Hermione and Neville, and finally Harry, as that’s the order in which she was able to reach each person. 

And just like that, a tension Harry hadn’t even been aware of, eased off and bleed away. He didn’t notice the same tension easing away from the others as well. It just suddenly felt like things in the world were better again. 

“Hello,” a second voice greeted from behind Hannah. 

“Hi, Susan,” Hermione spoke up first. “How have your holidays been so far?” 

“Not as adventurous as yours, I believe,” the redhead replied. “I’m glad both you, Harry, and your parents are all right.” 

“Thanks. Me, too,” Hermione responded. “We were really lucky.” 

“We’re safe now, and that’s what matters most,” Harry added. “Would you ladies like something to drink?” 

“Do you have your bags?” Blaise added, and Hannah patted her pocket. 

“We were thinking of visiting some of the local museums,” Hermione interjected. 

“Oh, that might be nice,” Susan responded, grinning as her friend had plopped down in Neville’s lap and taken up Luna’s hand to play with like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“But if you’re tired,” Harry put in, “We could always just go back to the house and relax for a bit.” 

“They took a portkey, Harry,” Hermione chided. “They didn’t actually ride the train in.” 

“I’m just saying.” 

“You just don’t want to have to go to a museum,” Neville teased. 

“You do realize there’s like forty-five different museums in this one city alone, right?” Harry countered. 

“It’s not like I’m asking you to go to all of them,” Hermione huffed. Harry shot her a look. “I’m not! Besides, Blaise lives here. And we’ve a reusable portkey. I can come back whenever I want and visit the other museums. We’re only asking you to go to two today.” 

“Two?” Hannah asked, surprised. 

“Not overly large,” Blaise promised. “One is actually a church. The other is the Royal Palace Museum. We will be home before cena.” 

“That’s dinner, right?” Neville clarified. Blaise beamed at him, nodding, and Neville preened just a bit, earning a kiss from both Hannah and Luna. “I’m starting to pick up on a few words,” he informed Susan. “It helps to be surrounded by it.” 

“I’m sure it does,” she responded, amused. “So we’re going to get to see some of the local sites? That will be nice.” 

“Not as nice as the ocean right outside Blaise’s backdoor,” Neville returned. “Maybe if it’s not too chilly, we could go for a swim when we get back tonight.” 

Blaise shivered. “It is much too cold for me.” 

“You’ve never been in the Black Lake,” Harry scoffed. 

“No, I would like to think I have much more sense than that.” 

“It’s quite brisk,” Luna added. “If Hannah and Susan don’t want something to drink, shall we be on our way?” 

** 

~the following day~ 

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked, stepping out onto the patio with a cup of tea in hand, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. 

Susan looked up from where she was watching Neville, Hannah, Luna, and Harry play in the waters. “I’m not sure,” she answered finally. 

“Hannah said she was going to explain everything to you.” 

“She did,” Susan agreed, taking a hasty sip of her sweet coffee. It was quite different from the typical English tea, but still tasty. “At least, I think she did. Are you—I mean, it’s not really any of my business. Never mind.” 

“You are important to Hannah,” Hermione countered. “She thinks of you as part of her family. That makes you a part of our family.” 

“Do you really believe that?” Susan asked hesitantly. 

“That you’re a part of our family?” the head girl tried to clarify. “Yes. It’s much like any in-law situation, I should think. I mean, I know we’ll have to meet Blaise’s mother at some point. And Luna’s father, come to think of it. I’m not sure how I feel about meeting Neville’s grandmother properly after all these years of hearing some of the stories about her. And eventually, the others will have to meet my parents. I’m hoping we can do the initial introduction during Christmas. Harry’s invited them to Christmas Dinner with the Black Family, same as you. I’m not sure if Luna’s father will be there. She never really said. And we’ll have to confront Neville’s grandmother at some point, but I’m not sure any of us really want to do that until after Christmas, but that’s not really right, is it? I mean, she raised him after what happened to his parents. She must be at the very least worried about what he’s up to right now, but he’s refused to try and contact her yet. Harry might end up pressing the point. He’s actually a bit big about family. Which, I guess, brings us back around to the part where you’re family now.” 

Susan blinked. “Um, okay.” 

“Sorry,” Hermione said, slightly embarrassed by her rambling tirade. “Things have been a bit stressed. My parents didn’t necessarily take my chosen lot in life too well. Of course, I had intended to tell them only that Harry and I were dating and rather serious about it, but then Harry had to go and tell my father that we were practically married and I was pregnant already. Didn’t necessarily go over too well, as you can image.” 

“No, I don’t think that would,” Susan responded, bemusedly, shaking her head. “What on earth possessed him to do that?” 

“I don’t know,” Hermione sighed. “My father said something about my possibly changing my mind about Harry.” She huffed as Susan snorted. “I know, right? Well, needless to say, it didn’t sit very well with Harry’s new possessive side. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, my parents were learning just about everything.” 

“It is something of an adjustment to wrap your head around, from the outside looking in,” Susan admitted. “Even I had a bit of a—well, I didn’t handle the news that Hannah’s pregnant, too well.” 

Hermione looked surprised. “I didn’t think that would bother you.” 

“And why not?” the redhead returned, heatedly. “We’re not even out of school yet, and Hannah had wanted to go into Healer training. She can’t do that with a baby.” 

“Most of the healers I remember seeing at Saint Mungo’s were rather older,” Hermione mused. 

“Because it’s too difficult to go through the training and raise a family. Most dedicated healers will get their medical training before they start a family, and then they work as medi-witches or wizards in the different units and clinics. But if you’re really serious about becoming a healer, it takes a lot more training, which is why most healers are much older.” 

“I suppose that makes sense,” Hermione agreed. “Even muggles go through something like ten extra years of school to learn about medicine and the body.” 

“Yes, so, while it was a bit strange to think of my best friend in a relationship with multiple people, that didn’t weird me out as much as realizing she was already pregnant and would be a mother within the next two years.” 

“It’s certainly not something I saw for myself,” Hermione confessed. “I mean, I’d always thought I’d have children. Eventually. Maybe some time in my late twenties or even thirties.” She sighed. “I’m not… upset, per say. But I’d never expected or planned for it. I wasn’t the type of girl you hear about who falls pregnant before she’s graduated school… except, now I am.” 

“Well, at least you and Hannah were able to get Madame Pomphrey to apply the stasis charm,” Susan tried to comfort her, but Hermione didn’t look much comforted. 

“Yes, there is that.” 

“Have you given much thought to what you will do now after Hogwarts?” 

“You mean besides help Harry rid the world of megalomaniac and have a baby?” Hermione grinned. 

Susan grinned back at her. “Yes, besides that.” 

“I’d thought I might go into the ministry,” she confessed. “Maybe the department of magical creatures, because I do feel rather strongly about how magicals look upon and treat others in our world. Or maybe wizarding law. But really, I wish there was a course or seminar about what real jobs there are in the wizarding world. It seems like all the jobs are out of the ministry, or Saint Mungo’s, or entrepreneurship, if you want to deal with running your own business. What about you?” 

“I had thought to join the ministry, too, but that was mostly because of my auntie,” Susan shared. “Now, I’ve been trying to rebuild the Bones Estate. We used to be one of the larger supplies of fresh produce and home goods. Our farmlands were rich and prosperous. We had several flocks of sheep and even a mill that produced high quality wool that was then sent to different countries. Auntie did what was required to keep the family farms up and running, but she wasn’t very interested in seeing them prosper and grow.” Susan sighed. “I think I will take some years, after we’re finished with Hogwarts, of course, and see if I can improve our goods.” 

Hermione hummed. “I know Harry’s been looking over his family’s portfolios. It was more than he’d expected, but luckily there was some people to help him make some sense of it all last summer. I know he’d mentioned wanting to be an auror, but I’m not sure if he was really for serious about that, or if he was just saying that to say something. And Neville wants to work his magic with botanicals, which makes sense. I actually don’t know what Luna or Blaise wanted to do after Hogwarts.” She frowned. “That’s something I should know, isn’t it?” 

“I think, I hope,” Susan corrected herself, “That we’re all young enough that we can still change our minds about things. Explore a little bit more about who we are as individuals, who we want to be.” 

“Not too much time,” Hermione sighed. “With the war going on the way it is, the ministry really does need all the help it can get. Even if we weren’t at war, they still need a lot of help.” 

“Will Harry and Neville be taking up their seats on the Wizengomat?” 

“I don’t know, maybe?” 

“That would definitely be a way to contribute to the Ministry that doesn’t necessarily involve you working there daily.” 

“True. I guess we all have more to talk about than I’d even realized. A part of me just assumed… I don’t know what. We’d finish school, graduate, move in together, and set up home? But I don’t think I would be very happy staying home with nothing to do but take care of babies.” 

“No, you don’t strike me as the type to be very happy doing that, either.” 

“What has two such beautiful ladies as your selves looking so glum on such a fine morning?” Blaise asked, stepping onto the patio. 

Hermione smiled and turned her cheek up for a kiss. “Good morning, Blaise. We were just discussing futures and our plans for it. I realized I don’t think I ever asked you want you wanted to do after you graduated Hogwarts.” 

“Before I found you, Harry, and our pard, I probably would have gone on much like my mother,” the young man responded, slipping easily into one of the chairs and picking at the biscotti on his plate. “I would have helped manage the estate my mother has acquired over the years, traveling about, picking out potential lovers. I might have become a serial spouse, again, like my mother. Marrying various people and then loving them to death before moving on.” 

He shrugged negligently. “Now that that no longer is my fate, I shall still probably help manage my mother’s acquired estates.” 

“Is estate management something you’re actually interested in?” 

“Not the day-to-day running of different households,” Blaise corrected. “I have no desire to micromanage such things. But the financials, different investments… yes,” he mused. “I think that might be interesting.” 

“Maybe you could help Harry and Neville with their estates as well,” she suggested. 

“And you?” Blaise asked. “Will you be joining the ministry after graduation and blaze trailing straight towards the minister’s position?” 

Hermione smiled, sharing a look with Susan. “Not right away,” she answered. “We need to take care of Harry’s dark lord problem first, I think.” 

Both Susan and Blaise snorted, and she shared their amusement. “Unfortunately, Voldemort’s proven time and time again, he’s not willing to leave Harry alone. Even if he was, I don’t think Harry’s willing to leave him alone, which makes defeating him our major hurdle between us and a chance at a normal life.” 

“I somehow doubt life with Harry Potter will ever be normal,” Susan countered. 

“True,” Hermione conceded. “Well, life as normal as life with Harry can be, then.” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure how much good I’m going to be in the next couple of months.” 

“You’re pregnant, mia bella di fuoco, not invalid.” 

Susan frowned. “Flaming beauty, right?” she tried to translate. 

Hermione blushed. “Let’s just say, I have a talent with fire magic?” 

“Okay,” the redhead replied, but it was plain she was still curious. 

“Neville has his greenhouses, but if he doesn’t patch things up with his grandmother, we might need to rebuild them someplace else once we get settled,” Hermione continued, suddenly worrying about the future now that Susan had brought the subject up. “Do you have any idea what Luna wants to do?” 

Blaise frowned. “No, I don’t.” He smiled then. “But I’m sure whatever it is, it will suit her perfectly.” He reached out across the table for her hand, cupping it lovingly. “Do not invite worry. Enjoy what bountiful pleasures life has bestowed upon us and let the troubles come as they may. We will be enough to handle them when they do. There is no need for you to sit here and fret like some old maid.” 

“Old maid?” Hermione bristled, but Blaise merely quirked an eyebrow and crooked smile at her and the steam of her ire fizzled. 

“Now that I know,” Susan murmured bemused, “I’m finding it hard to believe no one else has figure you all out before. There’s just no way you could have hid all this chemistry between you all,” she added, eyes flickering from where Blaise still held Hermione’s hand to the waters down below where Harry, Neville, and Hannah had become a lot friskier than minutes ago. 

“We’re on vacation,” Hermione reminded her. “I would hope we’re all a lot more circumspect while at school. The hardest part of it all is sneaking time with Blaise.” 

“It is a challenge, yes,” the Slytherin agreed. “But it is thankfully not impossible. My housemates are well accustomed to my goings and comings. Other than wonderings on who my newest conquest might be, none have dared to challenge or question me. It is fine, Hermione. We are fine. Many would find it a great laugh if they were to think I was seducing the head girl right under the head boy’s nose, or vice versa.” He grinned at her and raised her hand up to press against his lips. 

“They are your friends, though,” Hermione fussed. “You should be able to tell your friends the truth.” 

“And have you told Ronald the whole truth yet?” Blaise countered, knowing full well that the red-headed Gryffindor wasn’t in the full know. Oh, he certainly knew that his two best friends were in a relationship, but he didn’t know the full extent. 

“That’s different,” Hermione insisted. 

“I think that’s his point,” Susan put in gently, slightly uncomfortable to be witness to what could be considered a spat. “I’m Hannah’s best friend, and she’s mine, but we’ve been best friends for years. And we’re both girls. I really do think that makes a difference, Hermione. Boys… I don’t know. Boys always seemed a bit weirder with how their friendships work.” 

“We never intended to purposefully hide things from Ron,” Hermione wimbled. “It’s just… first it was one thing, and then another… and Ron was pretty busy on his own, and then it was Hogsmeade, and… it was just never the right time.” 

“Not to mention he’s not the most discreet,” Blaise murmured, looking away as a loud shriek sounded from below, shortly followed by uproarious laughter. “Harry values his privacy, and he would not be happy with so many others, strangers especially, hounding him and his family for details of his private life. And that is what will happen when word finally gets out. Hopefully our circle will be nearly complete before any outsiders learn of it.” 

“I think it’s fascinating that you’re trying to build a circle in these modern days,” Susan commented. 

“I’m not sure I would go so far as to say we’re intentionally trying,” Hermione corrected. “It’s just… that’s the way things tend to be going towards, so we wanted to prepare Harry for that idea as gently as possible.”

“Most wizards would be thrilled at the possibility of being the center of a magical circle,” Susan pointed out. 

“Ah, but there you see,” Blaise chastised her teasingly. “Harry is not like any of the wizards you or I know, is he? He is a unique specimen all unto himself, and I think that, perhaps, is why he was chosen by magic.” 

“That’s a fanciful thought.” 

Hermione frowned. “I just wish he could get a break for once. It’s unfair how it always seems like the bad things happen to him.” 

“There is a lot of drama that surrounds him,” Susan agreed. 

“Then maybe that’s why he has us now,” Blaise supposed. “So that we can be his good and bring him happiness to counterbalance all the unhappiness he has had in his life.” 

Hermione shot him a fond smile. “You really are a romantic, aren’t you?” she teased, turning her hand over in his and threading their fingers together. 

“But of course,” Blaise responded easily, big white-toothed smile. “I am Italian.” 

***&&&&***

Blaise was escorting the girls into another museum-type building. Harry wasn’t even sure which one this was or where exactly in Italy they were. He was fairly sure they were still in Italy, although one of the girls had mentioned something about Spain earlier this morning… No, he was almost certain he was hearing the people around him speak Italian, not Spanish. Maybe. 

“Where are we again?” he nonchalantly attempted to ask Neville, who was sitting on the park bench next to him, under a large tree, and seemed to just be soaking up the ambiance around him. 

The nymph shot him an amused grin. “Forgot already?” 

“I just didn’t pay attention to where all everyone finally decided to go,” Harry admitted. “Doesn’t really matter, does it, as long as we’re all together, we could be anywhere in the world, and that would be fine.” 

“You say that now, but you’ll want to be back home soon enough,” Neville countered. 

“The villa isn’t home,” Harry groused suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, and earning a frown from the other boy. 

“It’s a lovely home, it’s Blaise’s home,” Neville reminded him. “And he’s been generous enough to open it to all of us and host us this last week.”

“Yes, it’s his home,” Harry grumbled. “But it’s not ours,” he stressed. “I want us to have a home that is truly ours.” 

Neville sighed. “You finally finished looking through those folders you brought with you, didn’t you?” he asked, following his suspicions for the source of Harry’s less that agreeable mood this morning. Not that he would rather be inside with the others looking at a bunch of stuff he wasn’t allowed to touch—it he wanted to experience that, he could just floo back home to his grandmother. No, thank you very much. He was more than content to tackle one of Harry’s occasionally foul moods. 

Harry huffed. “I thought I had at least seven potentials when we left London,” he shared doomily. “Seven! Between everything of the Potters and Blacks combined, seven potential places we could have looked at. But then I went a had a closer look last night.” 

“And you discovered they weren’t so potential after all,” Neville concluded. 

“The Black properties turned out to be real estate, actual real estate,” Harry shared. “I mean, like rented out rooms and buildings all over the place—I would have to kick multiple families out, in some cases, to reclaim the buildings, and even then, they’re in the middle of the city. Somehow, I don’t think any of us would be especially comfortable living right dab smack in the middle of London.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” Neville agreed. “Maybe someplace a little more closer to nature?” 

“That’s what I was hoping for. I mean, with you and Luna, at the very least,” Harry went on. “So, then I took a look at the Potter properties I’d thought looked promising… There were only three that I pulled.” 

“Nothing?” 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and just focused on breathing for a moment. “It was in the fine print at the end. Two of them sounded great—a nearby woods, plenty of rooms, space for us to grow, while at the same time not sounding too big, you know?” 

Neville nodded but didn’t interrupt. 

“But then, at the very bottom of each dossier, it had an attached note that buildings had been demolished, or at least been deemed so compromised that they’re unfit for habitation. We’d have to rebuilt or rehabilitate from the very foundation up. So basically, I’m right back where I was again, with no stable home for us to go to in June. I’ve got nothing.” 

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Neville corrected gently. “You’ve looked through your portfolios, and yeah, it’s a bit upsetting that there wasn’t just something waiting and ready for us to walk into, but you said the one property sounded promising, right? What’s to stop us for commissioning someone to rebuild the buildings?”

“That takes time, Neville,” Harry protested. “It would never be ready by the time school lets out.” 

Neville frowned. “I don’t think it would take all that much time, really. I mean, if we got started right away, before January ended, at the latest, I would think it should be ready by the end of June. And, really, that’s just if you really wanted to use Potter lands. I’ve still my family’s portfolio to look though, which I should probably do before we head back to school, come to think about it, and Blaise has a ton of stuff from his mother’s estate, as well, that he’s inherited over the years. It’s not like we’re coming to this circle completely empty-handed, you know.” 

He reached out and clasped a hand over Harry’s knee, squeezing encouragingly. Harry placed his own hand over Neville’s and returned the squeeze. 

“No, I know you’re not, but…” 

“But there’s a part of you that feels like you should be the one providing everything?” Neville hazard a guess. 

Harry slumped a little, relieved to have someone else seem to understand. “Yeah.” 

Neville nodded. “It’s probably a lot of things, not least of how we were raised, thinking that because we’re blokes, it’s our responsibility to provide for our families—the gent works and brings the income, his lady tends the home. It’s kind of instilled in us, isn’t it? But I’ve been around Hermione enough to know it’s not always like that, not now and days. My gran has some pretty antiquated ideas, but even she worked when she was younger, before she went and had my dad. Most witches have a career before they have a family, and some even after when they have no more children at home, so, I mean, it’s not like they’re banned from ever working. But there’s still that little piece, the niggle in the back of your head, that says you should be providing… Of course, my signals are a little bit mixed-up, but, yeah, I feel it, too, sometimes. But, I also feel the urge to take care of everyone, make sure everyone is happy and well. You know, nature-nurture type of thing.” 

“What do you do, when you get to feeling like that?” 

“I turn to you, or the others,” Neville added on, grinning. “I make sure Luna has eaten more than just pudding and that she’s wearing her shoes. I make sure Hermione isn’t overstressing herself with studying and has taken at least a small break. I make sure Hannah isn’t feeling lonely or isolated from her other friends because she’s been spending too much time with us. I make sure you’re not stressing over something that has a much easier solution that you’re making things out to be. Making sure as much of the smaller stuff is taken care of so you can worry about the bigger things when they come. And making sure you remember that you’re not alone, that we’re all here for you.”

“You do a lot.” 

Neville shrugged, slightly embarrassed. 

“Do we do anything for you?” 

“You give me a place to belong,” he answered readily. “A family, a home. People to care for and who care for me. You give me purpose and acceptance, listen to my suggestions and honestly consider them. For example, if you decide not to rebuild on one of the Potter properties you liked to so much, then there’s always Longbottom Manor we can retreat to until something that better suits our needs arises. There, now you don’t have to worry about not having someplace to go come June.” 

“But your grandmother—“ 

“I’ll deal with my Gran when we get back to England,” Neville promised. “And I’ll swing by Gringotts proper and pick up my own portfolio. I’m pretty sure there’s at least one or two properties in our estate that could adequately house us. Then, we can take a look at the different properties and see if anything better suits your fancy. You could also speak with a few contractors about seeing how much it would cost to build a manor house.” 

“Do you think it’s okay to wait that long before talking to your grandmother?” Harry wondered. “I mean, I don’t want her to hate us or anything.” 

“You mean like how you just sort of dumped everything onto Hermione’s parents and now you’re not their favorite person and they kind of sort of don’t like us, either, even though they haven’t even met us yet?” Neville mused. “Don’t worry about it. Gran is a born and raised witch. She’ll get over her upset over lack of decorum soon enough. Really, she’s probably more upset that she found me in bed with someone other than Hannah, when she knows—well, thinks she knows—Hannah and I are in a supposedly committed relationship. Not that she wouldn’t have been upset to have found me in bed with Hannah—completely indecent you know, sleeping with a person who is not your spouse.” Neville grinned, bordering on a leer. 

“Yes, well, I guess we’re just the disreputable type. Indecent sort, you know, up to all sorts of unseemly things.” 

They shared a laugh, but the moment quickly died into a comfortable silence. 

“Do you really think it’s that okay to wait to talk to her?” Harry finally asked. 

Neville considered. “We’ll be back in England for Christmas Eve, right? I know we originally said we’d go back Christmas Day, but then we all agreed to head back a day early so we could really visit with some of Blaise’s family. And that’s fine, but, I mean, we’ll be back in two days’ time, and… I guess I kind of think Christmas is a good enough time to deal with my gran, and if she comes to the Black Family dinner, than all the better for me because she’ll be less willing to make a scene in someone else’s home.” 

“So you’ve actually thought this out,” Harry realized. 

“Yeah, well, at first, no,” Neville admitted. “At first, I was just really pissed at her, but then I got to thinking, more and more, and I guess I was able to see some of it from her perspective, too, finally. Maybe I just needed space as much as she did. Anyway, I’m pretty much calm about it all now, but I still thinking waiting until Christmas is the better timing.” 

“Well, you know her best,” Harry allowed. “But I do want to know you’ve cleared the air with her and all things are good. I mean, for all intents and purposes, she’s been your only family.” 

“I’ve had my great-aunts and uncles, too,” Neville corrected. “But, yes. For most all my life, it’s just mainly been Gran and me. I would like her to be happy for me, for us… for the life we’re trying to build. I would like her support and blessing, I suppose, but when it comes right down to it, I don’t really need it.” 

“Then we’ll wait till Christmas,” Harry agreed, “and you’ll let us know if you want any of us in with you or just nearby.” 

“You’ve got it,” Neville agreed. “But I think I’ll be fine on my own, really. At least for this. 

“Are you two all finished with your chat yet,” Blaise asked, slipping up beside them. “Only, the girls are in the gift shop now and debating where they would like to go to next, so if you’re not, might I suggest putting it on pause?” 

“We’re finished,” Harry answered. “Neville’s going to talk to his gran on Christmas day, and then we’re both going to take a trip to Gringotts to pick up the Longbottom estate portfolio to check if there are any suitable properties in his family’s possession, and I’m going to try and meet with a few contractors to see what it would cost to simply build us a new manor home. The Potter estate has a couple of properties that looks promising, but the buildings were destroyed.” 

“It sounds like the solid formation of a strong plan,” Blaise praised. “I would offer up my own estate properties, but I know for a fact none of them properly suit our long-term needs,” he added regretfully. “Although, they would make fabulous use as recreation and holiday get-aways.” 

“I’m sure we’ll need them,” Harry grinned, spying Hannah casually dragging Hermione away from the gift shop with a laughing Susan and smiling Luna in tow. “Where to next?” he called out, standing up before the quartet of girls could bombard them. 

 

*********   
Still more to come…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is spring break almost over? Ah, well. I have several more scenes typed out... unfortunately, none of them are for the next chapter. Out of curiosity (and the understanding that I'll probably do whatever I want anyway), how many people who are still reading this are actually interested in seeing any of the family interactions? Blaise's family, Neville's confrontation with his Gran, the Grangers at a Black Christmas dinner put on by Andromedea, the fall out of Remus proposing to Nymphadora...? Or are you ready to jump back into Hogwarts and deal with all those scenes and blackflashes and references?


	33. The Return to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pard says 'addio' to Italy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to use hover text and google translate for Blaise's dialogue, but it's not working for me.

33 –The Return to London–

 

~THEN~

 

“As we’re all together, we could be anywhere in the world, and that would be fine,” Harry admitted. “But the villa isn’t home. It’s Blaise’s home, but it’s not ours,” he stressed. “I want us to have a home that is truly ours.”

 

“It’s a bit upsetting that there wasn’t just something waiting and ready for us to walk into,” Neville agreed, “but you said there was at least one property sounded promising, right? What’s to stop us for commissioning someone to rebuild the buildings?”

 

“That takes time, Neville,” Harry protested. “It would never be ready by the time school lets out.”

 

Neville frowned. “I’ve still my family’s portfolio to look through, which I should probably do before we head back to school, come to think about it, and Blaise has a ton of stuff from his mother’s estate, as well, that he’s inherited over the years. It’s not like we’re coming to this circle completely empty-handed, you know.”

 

He reached out and clasped a hand over Harry’s knee, squeezing encouragingly. Harry placed his own hand over Neville’s and returned the squeeze.

 

“No, I know you’re not, but…”

 

“But there’s a part of you that feels like you should be the one providing everything?” Neville hazard a guess.

 

Harry slumped a little, relieved to have someone else seem to understand. “Yeah.”

 

“I’ll deal with my Gran when we get back to England,” Neville promised.

 

“Do you think it’s okay to wait that long before talking to your grandmother?” Harry wondered. 

 

Neville considered. “We’ll be back in two days’ time, and… I guess I kind of think Christmas is a good enough time to deal with my gran.”

 

“Then we’ll wait till Christmas,” Harry agreed.

 

“Are you two all finished with your chat yet,” Blaise asked, slipping up beside them. “Only, the girls are in the gift shop now and debating where they would like to go to next, so if you’re not, might I suggest putting it on pause?”

 

“We’re finished,” Harry answered. “Neville’s going to talk to his gran on Christmas day. We’re both going to take a trip to Gringotts when we get back to London, and I’m going to try and meet with a few contractors to see what it would cost to simply build us a new manor home.”

 

“It sounds like the solid formation of a strong plan,” Blaise praised. “I would offer up my own estate properties, but I know for a fact none of them properly suit our long-term needs,” he added regretfully. “Although, they would make fabulous use as recreation and holiday get-aways.”

 

“I’m sure we’ll need them,” Harry grinned, spying Hannah casually dragging Hermione away from the gift shop with a laughing Susan and smiling Luna in tow. “Where to next?” he called out, standing up before the quartet of girls could bombard them.

 

 

~NOW~

 

 

\- Wednesday, December 24, Portifino, Italy -

 

Hermione was double checking her clutch, ensuring she had everything and hadn’t left anything behind while the others flitted back and forth. All except Blaise who lounged sprawled along the sattee with a book in hand.

 

“You do realize we could just send a house elf back if we left anything, don’t you?” he teased lightly as his mates continued to practically buzz from room to room with nervous energy.

 

Luna came in from the patio, stringing a sea shell into her hair. “It seems a shame to be leaving so soon,” she sighed, slipping onto the sofa despite Blaise’s legs. “It feels like we’ve only just got here and now it’s time to leave.”

 

“We can always come back to visit,  mia fiore della luna del mare.This summer, perhaps? We can all go swimming when the waters are warm and inviting and not so chilly.”

 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry scoffed, dropping a tote next to the sofa. “The water was plenty warm. You want to talk about cold, you should try taking a dip in the Black Lake. In February.”

 

“I think that’s everything,” Susan huffed, lugging a bulging bag out from her assigned room.

 

“Did the shrinking charms not work?” Hermione asked, confused.

 

“Oh, no. They did. This is after the shrinking charms,” the girl confessed.

 

“Susan’s never been a very good packer,” Hannah teased, coming out from the kitchen with a tray of biscotti and cappacinos. “How many stops are we supposed to be making again?” she asked as she carefully set the tray down on the small table.

 

“If we’re lucky? We’ll make out with only four or five stops,” Blaise repeated for the umpteenth time.

 

“Just how many aunts and uncles do you have?” Hermione asked, realizing she didn’t know.

 

“Just the nine, from my father’s side,” Blaise answered, snatching up a biscuit and coffee. “We’ll stop through at my grandparents first in Avigliana before traveling on.”

 

“It seems a shame that we’ll actually be stopping in Lyon and Versailles but not actually get to sightsee,” Hermione sighed once again, for the umpteenth time.

 

“We can always come back and visit,” Blaise reminded her. “My aunts and uncles would be more than overjoyed for the company, really. You don’t believe me now, but you will once you’ve met them.”

 

“And they’ll really be okay?” Harry asked again. “I mean, with us? With you, and us, and all of this?”

 

“Yes,  mio bello compagno, re del mio cuore , I promise you—they will be very okay with all of this, with us, and our circle. They will be overjoyed with happiness, for you all make me so very happy, and they will be happy for me and for you. I’ve told you, they know and understand about my mother’s inheritance. They know I am my mother’s son in all aspects, and they worried for me before. But now there is no need for worry, so they will rejoice and celebrate our union. Stop worrying, Harry, please. They will love you. You don’t need to do or say anything to make that happen. They will simply love you because I love you.”

 

“I don’t think that’s how it always works, but okay,” Harry agreed. “I’ll try to stop bugging you about it.”

 

“You are never a bother,  amante . I’m sorry if I snapped at you.”

 

“No, it’s fine, really. I know we must be driving you nuts with all our questions and everything.”

 

“Has anyone seen Neville?” Hermione asked, realizing the other boy was still missing.

 

“He’s collecting a few more cuttings,” Luna supplied. “He should be back in just a little—“

 

“I’m here,” the ruddy faced teen huffed. “Whew! I tell you, I thought climbing all those stairs at Hogwarts was a feat, but these stairs are just wicked.”

 

“It’s the humidity,” Blaise shared. “Even though it is not seemingly that warm, this close to the water, the very air breathes moisture.”

 

“You certainly do have a way with words, Blaise Zabini,” Susan commented. “Not that I’m criticizing or anything. Just that it’s really poetic-like.”

 

He gave her a slow blink and languid smile to which she just laughed. “Well, if that’s everything,” she continued, turning her attention towards Hermione and Harry. “Should we be going?”

 

“Yes, I suppose we should,” Hermione huffed out before sucking in another fortifying breath.

 

“Just think,” Harry tried to console her with a shoulder squeeze and a quick kiss to her hair. “It can’t be any worse than my meeting your parents, right?”

 

“Definitely not!” Blaise agreed, grinning widely as he stood. “Not least because they are already familiar with my secondary species, but also because once they find out you are already with our child, they will be even more ecstatic. My family loves babies,” he added with a wink.

 

“We are not telling them I’m pregnant!” Hermione hissed.

 

“It might not be a bad idea,” Hannah hummed. “To build our extended family ties.”

 

Blaise slipped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face into her neck.  “La mia famiglia è tua, perché tu sei la mia famiglia. Sempre e per sempre.” 

 

Hannah smiled and sighed. “We’re going to have to learn Italian to keep up with even half of what you’re saying sometimes, aren’t we?”

 

“My family, your family. Always and forever,” Hermione translated garnering everyone’s attention.

 

“You can speak Italian?” Neville managed to squeeze out past his surprise.

 

“Of course she can,” Harry responded, bemusedly shaking his head and grinning. “She’s Hermione. She knows everything.”

 

“True,” Neville conceded.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed. “Italian is one of the Latin languages and shares the basic roots, like Spanish and French. It’s not that difficult to learn. Even English shares many of the basic roots of Latin, and since the majority of our spells are cast in Latin it was just sensical to do some studying of the language. Besides, my parents always enjoyed holidaying along the French Riveria, so I had many opportunities as a child to hear, speak, and read French. Now, shall we get this over with?”

 

“Don’t sound too excited to meet my family,” Blaise groused.

 

Hermione reached out to catch his arm as he passed her on his way towards the entry floo. “It’s not that I’m not wanting to meet your family, Blaise,” she tried to soothe the ruffled feathers her words had unintentionally caused. “If anything, I’m anxious to be back in England and to see my parents again. It’s not you, Blaise.”

 

“I know,  mia bella leonessa.  Now that everyone is here, let us be on our way so that we can arrive back in England that much sooner.”

 

He reached for the decorative floo powder bowl before turning back to the assembled group. “Capanna di Pesca, that is where we are going,” Blaise told them all. And then, receiving a pointed look from Hermione, he turned to Harry. “Will you come through with me first?” he asked Harry.

 

“Uh, sure. Is it okay for two people to travel together, though? I mean at the same time?”

 

“Perfectly safe,” he reassured, reaching out to pull the other teen to him. “Parents often travel with their children this way.” Leaning in closer when Harry would have pulled away, he whispered against Harry’s ear, “And lovers who wish not to be parted for even a floo’s distance long.”

 

In a flash of green flames, the pair was gone from Portifino, the others soon to follow. Their Italian holiday was over. For now.

 

 

***&&&&***

 

_\- Wednesday, December 24, Avigliana, Italy (~200km north of Genoa)-_

 

Capanna di Pesca – for all that it was called a ‘fishing hut’ – was really more of a large farm house. Blaise’s grandparents, Dorotea and Arturo, even kept chickens and goats. The home boasted six bedrooms and two toilets—enough, Dorotea said, for when all the family was over. As had just so happened on that particular Christmas Eve.

 

Dorotea and her daughters were laughing raucously from within the kitchen, sweet and savory scents filling the air as Blaise stepped out of the floo easily, bringing a stumbling Harry with him. His grandfather and uncles were gathered in the family room around the television set, arguing over something or another. The six men all paused and turned to stare as the floo turned green. And then there was another wave of uproarious greeting as the men drew Blaise to them with strong, back-slapping embraces and kisses.

 

“Nipote! È passato troppo tempo! Guarda quanto ti sei cresciuto! Eppure, così piccolo! È tutto quel libro di apprendimento: c'è appena un muscolo su queste ossa! Nessun problema! La tua nonna ti ingrasserà! Quanto tempo sei qui per questa volta? Non solo pizzicare di nuovo, spero. Dopo tutto è Natale. E chi è questo? Un ragazzo, eh?”

 

 

“Nonno,”  Blaise greeted before continuing on in purposefully slow English. “I’d promised I would come visit today. And I’ve brought my mates with me,” he added, gesturing towards Harry as the floo flared again.

 

“Pleasure to meet you, sure,” Harry dutifully greeted, reaching out a hand towards the elderly man, only to be surprised when he was pulled into one of those backbreaking hugs Blaise had received from his family members.

 

“My grandson is good to you?” the old man asked in heavily accented English. “Make you happy? Keep you happy?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry responded automatically, desperately trying to shake loose of the man’s grip.

 

“Good, good. Blaise isa good boy. You good boy, yes?”

 

“Arturo!” a voice scolded from the hallway as a rather large set woman waddled out of the kitchen area.  “Hai lasciato quel ragazzo andare! Fa respirare!” 

 

Harry felt a rap against his skull and turned to see Hermione putting her wand away. “Translation spell,” she answered his unspoken question. “Should have done it before you left. Blaise told us his grandparents don’t speak any English really well, but I forgot until Luna reminded me.” She shot a wry look at the blonde who stepped serenely from the floo—Susan, shortly followed by Neville and Hannah, right behind her.

 

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said with a grin, turning back into the noise of the room, he realized he could actually understand most what everyone was saying as the room filled with older people—Blaise’s aunts as well as his uncles and grandparents.

 

“So you are the boy who has captured my dear nephew’s heart,” a woman purred from beside him, startling Harry.

 

Harry turned, surprised. Although much older—old enough to show visible signs of age—she was very beautiful. Her olive skin was fair, her hair still a deep, dark brown, and her eyes… mesmerizing. She laughed, startling him again, realizing he’d been staring.

 

“Forgive me, but it’s plain to see that Blaise comes by his good looks quite naturally,” Harry tried for a smooth recovery, periphery aware of Neville’s squawk as he got smushed in a great familial hug by grandad Zabini.

 

“You obviously have not met his mother, Marianna, then,” the woman responded ruefully. “She is truly her son’s mother. She captured my baby brother’s heart without even trying. Sophia Zabini,” she greeted, forcefully pushing the memories of her brother aside. “And you,” she added with a flicker towards Harry’s forehead, “are Harry Potter.”

 

He nodded and accepted her hand.

 

“I must say—I was surprised when my sister shared Blaise’s news of having found a partner. I am even more surprised that it is one such as yourself. And I will confess, worried as well.”

 

“Worried?”

 

“You are a dangerous person, Harry Potter. Not because of yourself, but because of those that hunt you. Yes, I am aware of the going ons in Britain,” she shared when he shot her a surprised look. “Just as I know that Dark Lord of yours is a danger to everyone.”

 

“I wasn’t aware anyone outside of Britain cared.”

 

“Not many do, it’s true.” She nodded. “But those of us who know, who remember, who made it our career to watch and be ready…” She turned towards one of the windows.

 

“You’re an auror?” he asked, surprised, following her naturally away from the louder family reunion taking place behind them. 

 

She smiled wickedly back at him. “An equivalent to your British aurors, yes. Close enough. I wasn’t any older than you when Grindlewald rose to power. I hope to never see the such again. So, yes, we have been watching your dark lord and his campaign.”

 

“I don’t suppose any of you want to step in and help us take care of him?” Harry groused.

 

“That is not our responsibility. Great Britain is a sovereign nation. The other countries of the IWC cannot interfere unless the British formally request aid or your dark lord is deemed an immediate threat to the security of other nations.” She frowned darkly. “In which case, it is just as likely for a clean-up team to be sent in to completely eradicate the threat. It would not be pretty, Harry. There would be many casualties and collateral damage if that were to happen. So, you see, it is best for those of us outside of Britain to wait as long as possible before stepping in.”

 

Harry’s frown was one more of confusion that annoyance now. “What do you mean, collateral damage? What would the ICW do?”

 

“There are many possibilities.” A shoulder rose and dipped in an almost languid, negligent shrug. “Some are calling for a  irritanda destinauit  bomb to be dropped over the whole of Britain.”

 

“A what?” Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. He’d had only a smattering of history lessons in grammar school, but he knew bomb-anything wasn’t good.

 

“A nullification bomb, basically,” Sophia explained. “It has never been used before, but one does exist. It has the potential to completely eradicate magic within a certain range. But since no one is absolutely sure what that range is, you can understand the hesitance to use it. But still, there are some who are calling for its use in Britain to deal with the uprising dark lord. Mostly, those who remember best what it was like to live under Grindlewauld’s rule. Other’s are calling for a special task force to be put together and sent in to take out the dark lord. More are suggesting a special barrier be put up that would trap the dark lord—and consequently everyone else, too—inside the British borders. Mostly, people are just scared that once he is finished with you, he will come after us.”

 

“That’s a reasonable fear,” Harry agreed. “I can’t see Voldemort ever being satisfied with what he has. He’ll always want more. But I think killing all magic is pretty extreme.”

 

“I agree. But, you understand my concern now is the danger my nephew will be in for consorting with you and your friends.”

 

“It’s a worry I constantly have, despite everyone’s reassurances that they wouldn’t have it otherwise,” Harry agreed, looking out over the room where his mates were caught up in small talk with various people. “I worry that I won’t be enough to keep them all safe.”

 

Her eyes flicked back towards the rest of the house, and Harry’s followed. Several women were exclaiming over the girls, patting their heads and shoulders. Blaise’s grandmother was calling for one of them women to help put food and snacks on the table and demanding the girls eat something. Neville was holding a conversation with one of Blaise’s uncles while the other men returned to their own.

 

“You are all of you together? That is quite unusual.”

 

“Well, Susan’s actually not a part of our pard, the ginger,” he added, nodding. “But everyone else is. We’re a small circle right now, but Luna has assured us that we will grow.”

 

A dark brow rose. “You are actively building circle?”

 

“I wouldn’t say ‘actively’, really,” Harry fought the urge to shrug as he drew out the explanation. “It’s more like it’s just happening, without much of any say on my part.”

 

Sophia laughed darkly. “Oh, but you are an interesting one, Harry Potter. I can definitely see why my nephew is so entranced with you. You shine brightly on your own, but then, when reflected in the light of your lovers, you all shine ten times as bright. Ah, but I only count six if the redhead is not also involved. You’re a bit short for a full circle.”

 

“Thirteen,” Harry agreed, “If we end up with the old traditional number. The girls looked into it a while back. Seven female, five males, and one to lead them all.” He sighed. “I’m hoping we can work just as well on a half circle. Three and two seems just fine to me.”

 

“Oh, but no. It must be done properly,” Sophia insisted. “And your current members are quite powerful and talented in their own right.”

 

“You’ve just met us,” Harry responded with a bit of incredulous in his voice. “How can you know what talents any of us have?”

 

She smiled back at him, tapping her left eye, drawing his attention to the tiny shimmer that covered the area. The shimmer dropped for a second only, and in that brief moment, Harry caught sight of a spinning brown orb—the same shade of brown as her other eye, but unmistakable. He stared at her agape, even as the glamour replaced itself and her smiled face stared back at him, unmarred by any scar or deformity.

 

“Life is not always kind, but if you can make your own fortune from misfortune, you will never be without hope,” she told him solemnly. “And so, because of a mistake early in my career, I have been blessed with a talent for seeing that which remains hidden to many others. I repeat, you have surrounded yourself with impressive talents, not least of all my nephew.”

 

She paused to look back at said boy, although with his inheritance full upon him, it seemed somehow wrong to still refer to as still a boy. “If you are truly building a circle, and you haven’t found your other members yet, it simply means you are fishing in the wrong spot,” she added with a wink. “My father would take us out on his boat when we were all younger, before we went away to Beauxbatons. We would have to travel to different parts of the sea because the fish moved. I’ve always remembered that lesson—you cannot fish in the same spot hour after hour, day after day, for you will consume all the fish and then there will be none left to gather.”

 

“But what if I don’t want to fish anymore?” Harry huffed.

 

“Everyone must eat” she answered blithely. “It is a daily ritual. If you do not have enough to consume and content you then you will die. I am not a true aura reader like some of my compatriots, but I have some small skill. I can see, and I can tell, Harry. Your energy is very much similar to Blaise’s—it consumes. It hungers. You must continually feed it. You are no mere ordinary wizard, any more than your companions are.”

 

Harry practically scowled at that. “I don’t want to be special. I just want to be an ordinary normal person.”

 

“Too damn bad. You’re not. Get over it,” Sophia snapped at him, seeming rather harsh after her previously coaxing words. “You are not, nor have you ever been ordinary. You are magic. You are a wizard, a creature of magic, and there will never be anything ordinary about that, and as soon as you come to accept that, you can move on to building your own normal. Normal is not ordinary, nor is it the same for everyone. As soon as you stop trying to compare yourself to others, you will free yourself to truly be normal. Embrace what this life has offered you, Harry, and enjoy it to its fullest. If that means you shall have half a dozen lovers or twice as many, who cares? As long as everyone is healthy and happy, life is good.”

 

“You know, it’s a little strange to go from talking about dropping a magic nullifying bomb on the entirety of a country to having a dozen lovers?”

 

“Embrace it,” Sophia told him with a bright wide smile and a wink. She reached out and affectionately tapped his cheek. “Now, mama is putting food out on the table early to feed you all, and she will need help if supper is to be ready. If you’ll excuse me.” And then she slipped away, calling back out something to one of the men as she passed.

 

Hands slipped around Harry’s waist a moment later as Blaise pressed up behind him. “My Aunt Fia is a very smart woman. Hopefully, she told you something useful?”

 

“She works for the ICW?” Harry queried, leaning back welcomingly into the other boy’s embrace.

 

“Yes, the peace keeping forces, although they are more like a united military group really. A continental auror group who are sent out to handle matters when an individual country is deemed incapable of handling the situation independently.”

 

“She told me they’re watching ‘our dark lord situation.’”

 

Blaise hummed. “They would be.”

 

“Did you know they apparently possess a weapon that would completely destroy all magic within a certain area?”

 

“No… really?” He couldn’t quite repress the shiver that took him at even the thought of anything being able to destroy magic. Would it just repress the magic of an area or would it really destroy the magic? Most wizards and witches could survive having their magic bound, but for those with creature blood… It would be a death sentence. His arms tightened around Harry’s waist. “That’s not necessarily reassuring. Is it just a magical repression or would it truly kill magic? Would there be any way to return the magic afterward?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry confessed. “I was too surprised to even know such a thing existed.”

 

“Let us hope we will never be in a situation to have to try and find out, then,” Blaise said, dropping a kiss onto Harry’s shoulder.

 

“What would happen, if our magic was nullified? I mean to you or me or Neville or Luna or Hermione? We’re all more than just wizards and witches, we’re magical creatures. Would losing our magic kill us? What about other creatures?”

 

“I don’t know,” Blaise confessed, squeezing Harry tighter. “Possibly. I don’t think any of us would be able to survive without our magic. Not now. Maybe before our inheritances kicked in, but not now.”

 

“Then we definitely have to make sure the ICW is never tempted to use that weapon against us.”

 

“Definitely. Try not to invite worries this day,  mio principe oscuro. Voldemort and his vileness will still be there tomorrow and the day after. I dare say, he will still be there when we graduate Hogwarts, which is soon enough for us to prepare to confront him.”

 

“I don’t want any of you to confront him.”

 

“Nor do we really want to,” Blaise reassured, “But you are delusional,  if you think we would ever let you face him alone without us. Where you go, we will follow, for you are our heart and soul, so please be careful where you lead.”

“I’m not going to have this out with you now.”

“Good idea. My grandmama is setting food out, and she will want us to eat. The good news is, since all my aunts and uncles are already here, we won’t be stopped as we pass through on our way back to London. When we leave here, we can go straight your townhome without stopping.”

“That is good.”

***&&&&***

Somehow, two hours rolled into three, rolled into four, and before they realized it, late afternoon light was pouring through the windows. Blaise’s family was loud, boisterous and often argumentative, but none-the-less loving. ‘Nonna Tia’, as she insisted they all call her, continued to pile food trays and platters before them throughout the day, encouraging them to ‘eat, eat, eat!’. Meanwhile, stories and conversations poured over and through each other, and it was not uncommon to watch the family engage in more than one conversation at once.

At one point, Harry caught sight of Hermione talking with Sophia, and he wondered if his mate was interrogating the older woman in her typical ‘you-have-information-on-a-topic-I-want-to-know-more-about’ way, and he smiled. He watched the others engage with Blaise’s aunts and uncles. There were four older women—the aunts—and five uncles present. He knew from Blaise’s talk that Aunt Sophia was the aunt who had never married (although she had allegedly had many affairs over the years), nor had Blaise’s twin uncles, Enzo and Emilio, every married for that matter. He also recalled that the family was spread across Italy and France now, and only Blaise still had a home in the fishing town of the family’s origin, Portofino.

Neville had apparently fallen into an in-depth discussion with Aunt Nicia concerning Lyon’s many botanical gardens, and Harry sensed there would be an extended visit to the French city sometime in the near-future. Meanwhile, Hannah and Susan were asking for stories of Beauxbatons from Uncle Salvatore and Aunt Leonora, who were willing enough to share tales of their youthful adventures and experiences and the magical school in exchange for their own curiosity of Hogwarts to be filled. Luna, on the other hand, seemed to have taken a shine to Uncle Gilberto, and was listened attentively to his tales. If any of his mates were perturbed by any of the nonmagical there, they didn’t show it. But then, it wasn’t as if magic was used or flaunted—a hangover from being muggleborn, Harry thought.

As for Harry, he didn’t actively seek out anyone’s company or conversation. He was happy and content to listen to the others, sit to the side and overhear their tales. And despite the loud voices and moments of arguing (and one especially memorable moment of Nicia telling her husband, Ruggiero that he was full of shit), Harry wasn’t uncomfortable at all. It was rather similar to the Weasleys, he thought amusedly. Granted, more like if the Weasleys were all forty or fifty years older and still getting together for family dinners.

He had noted Blaise’s and Neville’s absence, and their flushed and sated faces when they reappeared, but he didn’t think anyone else had. And then a feast was being laid out on the table, and Nonna Tia was calling for everyone to wash up and come to the table to eat. Not even after a Hogwarts feast could Harry recall feeling so full—he was sure he had put one near a stone this day alone, but the food was delicious. He was sure he didn’t want to know what even half of the strange sea creatures were that swam in the rich red tomato gravy they poured over the pasta—it reminded him a bit of that fish stew the Beauxbatons students had enjoyed so much, but he didn’t remember the name of. Not that it mattered, really.

It was after they had all feasted and made attempts to help clean up that their party finally made move to depart. Thanks to almost all of the aunts and uncles already visiting his grandparents, the many stop-throughs and visits they had been planning for their return trip to London were negated. They would still floo through to Aunt Nicia’s and Uncle Ruggiero’s home in Lyons and then on to Aunt Leonora’s and Uncle Gilberto’s in Versailles before using the jump point in Ferques to cross the channel into London. But now they would not be actively stopping and visiting.

After spending nearly five hours visiting in Avigliana, Harry could only be grateful—although he wasn’t looking forward to the series of floo trips they were planning on taking. But then again…

Harry reached into his pocket and fondled the watch he’d taken to wearing around with him as he’d never gotten around to replacing his wristwatch. He grinned. It was the reusable portkey Kinglsey had given him. Portkey travel sucked, but… so did floo travel in Harry’s opinion. 

As the others rounded up, he caught their attention. “Since we won’t be visiting anyone else today,” he started, “I wondered if we might not want to just take this handy little portkey, I just so happen to have, straight back to the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Where ever did you get a portkey from?” Susan asked, surprised.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed in surprised remembrance. “That’s a good idea, Harry! It’s the reusable portkey a—a friend gave us to help travel between London and Genoa easily.”

“I have them sometimes,” Harry teased back.

“Yes, you do,” Neville grinned. “It would certainly save us all time and floo powder.”

“Ooh,” Luna chimed in. “I’ve not traveled by portkey very often. Shall we try it?”

“That’s what I was thinking, yeah,” Harry agreed. “Then we can all just apparate to Grimauld Place.”

“To where?” Blaise asked frowning.

“Grim—“ Harry started before remembering the townhome was still under the fidelius charm. “Hn, well. Didn’t think of that part,” he continued turning to Hermione, who quickly caught on.

“Oh, my. The secret,” she realized, grimacing. “That could be a bit of a problem. Hopefully Remus is home, yeah?”

“Well, it’s not like he’s working,” Harry mused. “You think he has something with the secret on it?”

“Most assuredly.”

“What secret?” Hannah asked.

“The townhome we’ll be staying at in London is hidden behind a fidelius charm, but neither one of us is the secret keeper, so we’ll need to get the secret keeper to give you the secret so you can get in,” Harry explained before Hermione could. “We could always just rest at the Leaky Cauldron while one of us floos over to headquarters and gets Mooney to give them the secret.”

“I guess that’s the best course of action for now,” Hermione agreed.

“Well, if we’re going to be in near Diagon Alley anyway,” Neville spoke up, “maybe Harry and I should go ahead and take care of our business at Gringotts.”

“Oh! We could do a bit of last minute shopping!” Hannah exclaimed excitedly.

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Harry hawed. “I mean, there’s still Death Eaters out there and—“

“And I have a few items I wouldn’t mind picking up from Diagon if we’re going to be there already,” Susan put in. 

Harry shot her an exasperated look. “Didn’t you all buy enough while we were popping all over the countryside this past week?”

Blaise reached out to him. “It will be fine. You and Neville can take care of your Gringotts business now instead of waiting until next week. Hermione can go and find this person who needs to give us the secret. I will escort Hannah, Luna, and Susan into the Alley for their few items, and then we will return to the Leaky Cauldron until Hermione returns to collect us. Most likely, we’ll take less time then you will anyway.”

Harry frowned, but really, what could he do?

It took another ten minutes before they had said all their goodbyes, with promises to visit all around, and then they all scrunched around Harry and the pocket watch he held out. Making sure everyone was touching the watch, Harry said, “The Italian Job”… and they were all hooked behind the navel and whipped through time and space in a nauseating pace before careening into the small space behind the Leaky Cauldron. They tumbled over like dominos, accompanied by dismayed cries and a symphony of sorries.

“Oh, fuck me, it’s cold,” Hannah groused, digging out her winter cloak.

“Come on,” Susan huffed, sliding her arm into Blaise’s and Hannah’s. “Let’s make this quick so we can go get a warm butterbeer afterwards.”

“Maybe we should go with,” Harry started before Hannah cut him off.

“We’ll be fine, Harry,” the blonde insisted. “We won’t spend too long in the Alley, promise. And then Hermione will show us how to get to this super-secret hideout. You and Neville go get business taken care of. That’s surely going to take more time than us.”

“Yes, but we’ll be safely behind the walls of Gringotts,” Harry grumbled.

Luna leaned up and kissed his cheek. “The longer we stay here, the more time we waste,” she pointed out, slipping her arm through his.

“You’re okay with this?” Harry asked Hermione, as if in a last-ditch effort to keep everyone together.

Hermione’s lips were tight, but she nodded. “I’ll be quick, and then figure out how to get the same information to Neville.”

“See!” Harry argued. “We should stay together until everyone has the secret. Then you can head back while Neville and I go on to Gringotts!”

“Or,” Neville sighed, “We could just go to Gringotts after tomorrow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hannah countered. “We have a busy day, Boxing Day, and you don’t really know how much time you’ll need at Gringotts, anyway, so it’s best to get started sooner rather than later. And really! Did you really want to have to visit Gringotts and Saint Mungo’s on the same day?”

He seemed to wilt a little.

“Hannah!” Harry rebuked sharply.

“No, it’s all right,” Neville sighed.

“I’m going,” Hermione announced before turning to Hannah with narrowed eye. She couldn’t quite keep the anger from her voice when she asked, “Where are you planning on going first?”

“I need to swing by the bookstore and the confectionaries,” Susan answered.

“Fine.” And with a loud, angry crack! Hermione was gone.

“Bookstore, confectionaries, and where else?” Harry growled.

“I—“

Blaise squeezed her arm. “Necessities only.”

Hannah sighed. “The stationary shop and curio shop.”

“Fine,” Harry agreed. “Let’s go.” He opened the archway to Diagon Alley, and for the first time, did not wonder at the amazing sight of the Alley unveiling before him as he marched into the magical shopping district of London.

The Alley was busy, witches and wizards bustling from one shop to another, keeping their heads down—out for last minute gifts, no doubt. The bookshop itself wasn’t overly busy—their party alone nearly tripled the occupancy of the shop. Almost immediately, they each wandered off into the shelves. Harry had been contemplating whether Hermione would like a particular runes book on display when Susan stepped up to him with her parcel in hand.

“All done! Where are the others?” she chirped.

Harry looked up and surveyed the shop. Just as he was about to go searching, Neville and Hannah emerged from one of the aisles, holding hands and murmuring to one another. A little of the tension Harry had been carrying since entering the Alley dissappated, but not all. A few moments later, a smiling and flushed Luna appeared at his side.

“Blaise was behind me,” she told them. “He’ll be just a moment longer.”

The Pard gave the blonde an amused, knowing look, but didn’t question her or Blaise when the other showed up.”

“The confectionaries next?” Neville asked, leading them out onto the Alley.

They were just walking in when Hermione rushed up to them, breathless. “Winky is making up rooms for everyone. Here,” she added, thrusting a small piece of paper into Blaise’s hand first. “Everyone read this, memorize it, and then give it back to me.”

The headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix is at 12 Grimauld Place.

Blaise frowned, but nodded, and passed the paper scrap along. Finally, it made it back to Hermione’s hands. 

“Everyone remembers where we’re going now?” she insured, waiting for their nods of affirmation before setting the secret to flame between her finger tips. “Good,” she said, brushing the ashes away. “We’ll floo there immediately after leaving here. Harry, you and Neville should get going, too. The sooner you go, the sooner you both will get back.”

Harry hemmed and hawed, not wanting to leave the others. 

“We’ll be fine,” Hermione insisted, shooting a warning look towards Hannah. “We will leave straight from here and return home.” When Hannah looked to protest, Hermione’s hand snapped up to stop her. “Anything you want or need from the stationary shop, you can order by owl from home, and you don’t need to go into the curio shop,” she continued, stressing the word ‘need’. “You merely want to, so it can wait.”

Hannah pouted, but the Head girl was having none of it. With a sigh, Neville raised Hannah’s hand to his lips before turning the hand over and nipping her wrist.

Hannah started and shot him a wide-eyed look. 

“Behave,” he told her.

“Says the person who’s already gotten some today,” she grumbled.

He smiled at her bemusedly and leaned in to whisper into her ear, “Which one of us is supposed to be the nympho? I forgot. When we get to where we’re going tonight, we’ll all celebrate Christmas—our first Christmas—properly. How’s that?”

“Too far away,” she huffed and sighed. “Fine. But try and hurry?”

He grinned and shook her hand before letting go to go step up next to Harry.

“Are you sure you don’t want me along?” Blaise asked, hovering in the doorway.

“There’s nothing you need to do at Gringotts right now, is there?” Harry confirmed. “I’d much rather an extra wand with the girls.”

Hermione huffed. “Go. We’ll be fine,” she repeated. “We’ll be maybe ten, fifteen minutes in here and then we’ll be on our way to Grimauld Place. The most troublesome part is no one else is keyed in to the wards yet, but Remus is waiting by the floo to let us in.”

Harry frowned, about to say something, but Neville bumped into his shoulder. “Come on and let’s get this done now so we don’t have to go and do it later.”

“Fine,” growled Harry, turning to head the rest of the way down the street to the large marble and gold building of the wizarding bank.

Hermione huffed again and then flounced into the shop.

“He’s protective,” Blaise reminded her as he brushed up against her side, “because he cares.”

“I know,” she allowed. “Better than most of you do.”

Blaise frowned. 

“That’s not a—a—an insult or criticism,” she huffed. “Really. I’m annoyed. Not at you; not even at Harry. At myself, really. We should have had a better plan for bringing you all back to Grimauld Place with us.”

“What’s done is done,” Blaise brushed aside her self-critique because that is what it was he realized. Hermione was usually very self-aware and critical of herself and she saw this small hiccup as a failure to plan sufficiently on her part when, in truth, they had all glanced over this one detail.

“Let us focus on the matter at hand,” he said instead, leading her up to the confectionery display. “What shall we treat ourselves to, hmm?”

Hermione allowed herself to be distracted because she wanted to be distracted. But she shared the same concerns as Harry—she was nervous being out in the open, knowing her pard members weren’t all safely tucked away behind strong wards. That they could be attacked at any moment was a real threat, and it settled uneasily over her shoulders.

It took too long for them all to settle on treats and little gifts for one another. It took too long for the shop clerk to finish ringing up their orders. It took infinitely too long for them to cover the relatively short distance back to the Leaky Cauldron. Too exposed. Her nerves sang with high alert as she hurriedly ushered each person through the floo. She darted a nervous look around the pub—no familiar faces—before stepping into the green flames herself.

As she whooshed away, she thought she saw a flash of bone white. A Death Eater mask?

***&&&&***

Harry and Neville hurried up the steps to the bank, not even sparing the warning to thieves a glance. Inside was not any warmer than outside, but at least there was no cutting breeze to chance shivers down one’s spine. No, the derisive look of the goblins did that all on their own.

He continued to lead them straight up to an empty teller. “We need to speak to our estate manager.”

The goblin’s eyes flicker up from his teller’s book, glancing over Harry’s face briefly, flicking up to the scar on his forehead, before sneering, “Name?”

Harry nearly huffed and rolled his eyes—Andromeda would skin him before healing him, twice. Instead, he withdrew his key and placed it on the counter, motioned for Neville to do the same, and answered, “Time is money.”

The goblin’s lips rankled. “Indeed.” He signaled for another goblin and handed off the tray carrying the two keys. He barked out something in Gobbledygook, and the other goblin nodded before turning to Harry and Neville.

“This way,” the new goblin commanded and then took off.

The goblin led them down this hallway and that, a dizzying maze of endless doors with no seemingly discernable feature. Remus had told him it was goblin magic, part illusion, part space bending. It had made Harry’s head hurt to try and understand all the gibberish Remus had enthusiastically spewed during his hour-long explanation. Harry just figured he had to not piss off his guide, and he’d be fine getting in and out and left it at that.

Now he followed the nameless goblin through the corridors until the creature stopped before a door, seemingly just alike all the other doors they had passed, and rapped smartly on the wooden surface.

A gravelly voice rasped out and their guide opened the door, motioning them inside.

“Good evening, Griphook,” Harry said as he entered and spied the familiar goblin behind the desk. “I trust your profits continue to soar.”

“Not as well as they could be if a certain someone continues to neglect his portfolios,” the goblin sneered back at him.

“Then isn’t it good for us that the state of my portfolios is why I’m here?” Harry returned. “I need to visit a selection of my properties.”

“You will need the ward key for any property you have not already been keyed into the wards for—“

“Which will be all of them except the Black’s London townhome,” Harry interrupted.

“It should have been done immediately,” Griphook snarled. “This summer, when you came into your inheritance.”

“Whoops,” Harry said negligently. “I’ll either get to it this next week, or it will have to wait until next summer. I have a list of properties here that I would like to visit first. They are my priority. And…”

Harry frowned and looked back at Neville who was waiting patiently for his turn to talk.

“And I have recently entered a mateship,” he continued turning back to Griphook in time to catch the goblin’s eyes widening fractionally. “Is there a way to have my mateship honored here at Gringotts without having to alert the Ministry?”

A cruel smile curled the goblin’s lips. “I believe that can be arranged, Mr. Potter.”

“Good, good.” Harry licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “I want to set up a separate account.”

“May a presume Heir Longbottom is the recipient?”

Harry blinked, his thought process interrupted.

“Err, no,” Neville stepped in. “I mean, I don’t need Harry’s money. I have my own.”

“Yes, but you, uh, you should still have access to the Potter Vaults if you need them,” Harry continued. “No, I want to set up a separate vault for Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbot, and Luna Lovegood with a monthly stipend from the Black vaults.”

“And is this to be a daughter of the House of Black stipend,” Griphook asked, “Or a spousal stipend?”

“Well, spousal, I suppose,” Harry answered, looking over to Neville. “That’s closest to a mate, right?”

Neville nodded.

“And another account,” Harry added. “For the pard as a whole.”

Griphook sneered. “And this account’s purpose?”

“It will be a family funds account. Hermione, Hannah, and Luna should all have access to it. Along with Neville and Blaise Zabini,” Harry added.

The goblin’s eyes grew larger. “This is more than just a mateship, Mr. Potter. This extends even beyond a triad, which are already uncommon.”

“It will be a full circle,” Neville spoke up, only slightly nervous. “Will you please include supplements from the Longbottom vaults, too? Spousal stipends for Hermione Granger, Hannah Abbott, and Luna Lovegood. And we need a children account—at least two currently. One will be heir apparent. Harry’s, not mine,” Neville added.

“Mistresses Lovegood and Abbott already have vaults opened with us, or did you wish to open a new account?” Griphook asked, eyes sparkling greedily with this new information.

“No, that’s fine,” Harry answered. “But Hermione needs a vault, right?”

“Ms. Granger does not currently have a vault with Gringotts. There will be the standard fee for a personal vault.”

“Fine,” Harry agreed.

“Wait,” Neville interrupted. “What about the vaults used by the Lady Potter? Are those currently in use by someone else?”

Griphook’s lip curled again. “They remain unused,” he confirmed.

“Then just grant Hermione access to those vaults,” Neville told Harry. “If she really wants a personal vault, she should be the one opening it for herself. It’s like a thousand galleon fee to dig out a new vault. It’s a waste when you really don’t need it.”

“That’s true. Okay. We’ll do that.” Harry nodded and turned back to Griphook. “I trust Hermione can be given access to the Lady Potter’s accounts?”

The unhappy goblin nodded acquiesce.

“Okay, good,” Harry continued. “Then we’ll do that. And Hermione and Hannah are both currently pregnant, so, yeah. Those children vaults.”

“Heir apparent and Heir presumptive,” Neville supplied. “Unless you wanted to do one one and one another. I mean, you do have the titles for Potter and Black to pass on.”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think on it,” Harry mused. “And probably discuss it with the girls.”

“Good idea.” Neville grinned at him.

“So, will the pard’s new vault cost a thousand galleons, too?” Harry asked curiously. Not that he wasn’t going to do it, but it was good to know what the fees for things were.

“No,” both Griphook and Neville answered.

“Because it’s a family vault,” Neville continued.

“The fees of the vault are waived as long as a monthly minimum deposit is made,” Griphook explained.

“Because Gringotts reuses family vaults from families that have died out,” Neville added. “Personal vaults are sold off to families if they’re not passed down to someone, and most families own several personal vaults on hand for spouses and children.”

Griphook remained silent for a moment, and then finally allowed, “Your grandmother has taught you well, Heir Longbottom.”

Neville nodded in acceptance of the compliment, recognizing it as such. “I was raised in our world with the expectation that I know its intricacies. Harry was not, but he’s learning,” the sandy haired boy added with a smile. Then he turned back to the goblin. “I would also like a list of all habitable properties in the Longbottom portfolio.”

“That can be arranged, as heir apparent,” Griphook allowed, “But you will not be granted access to the properties themselves without Lady Longbottom’s approval or your ascension.”

“I’m aware of that.” Neville informed the goblin. “I still want the list.”

“The dossier shall be owled to you by the end of the week,” Griphook affirmed. “Is that agreeable?”

“Yes, and—“

Now this time Neville hesitated, shooting Harry a nervous look.

“The paperwork for a circle,” Neville began, licking his lips nervously. “They can be started without informing the Ministry, correct?”

Griphook pressed his fingertips together, elbows propped on his desktop, staring assessing and the boy playing men before him. “The Terms of Treaty state that Gringotts must report the conception of a circle of power when registered.” The goblin paused, watching the Longbottom’s shoulders sag, before deciding to continue. “A mateship, no matter how unconventional, is not a circle, however. After all, everyone knows a circle of power consists of thirteen individuals… not six.”

“Right then,” Neville stated, regathering his steam. “I would like to see my will updated, so that my mates are provided for in event of my death. My death or my incapacitation,” he rushed to add.

“Good point,” Harry sighed. “I’d better do that, too.”

“And will that be all?” Griphook asked, scornfully.

“Yes,” Harry began, then, “No. You said families keep extra individual vaults?”

“It is customary.”

“How many of these individual vaults are there currently not in use in the Potter and Black families?”

“Several.”

“And they have moneys in them?” Harry asked. “A lot?”

“Some, depending on one’s definition of ‘a lot’,” Griphook sneered again.

“Can you show me which ones are which and how much they have, respectively?”

“I could.”

“Harry,” Neville hedged. “Those personal vaults are usually used for children of the family.”

“Let’s start with the Potters, shall we?” Harry continued blithefully. “Not including the Lady’s vault, which we’re giving Hermione access to, how many Potter personal vaults are there?”

“Harry,” Neville started again.

“Eleven.”

Neville blinked. “Eleven? The Potters still have eleven personal vaults available?” he asked incredulously.

Griphook shot him a rather derisive look. “Until quite recently, there were still several members of the Potter bloodline still receiving stipends from the main Family.”

“Does that include my old personal vault?” Harry wanted to know.

“It is. These vaults would be used to become the Heir apparent vault and any heir presumptive’.”

“Right. Okay.” Harry licked his lips, thinking furiously. “And how many of these vaults do the Black’s claim?”

“The are fourteen personal vaults within the Black family,” Griphook informed him.

“Yeah, but a couple of those are currently in use, right?” Harry asked. “I mean, there’s one for Tonks and Andromeda, right? And what about Narcissa’s? Did that become Draco’s? I know I cast Bellatrix from the family, but does she still have access to her personal vault? And isn’t there an auntie or uncle somewhere still alive?”

“Draco Malfoy received all monies previously stored in his mother’s vault, but the vault itself reverts back to the Black family,” Griphook explained.

“But what about when I offered him sanctuary within the Black Family?” Harry frowned. “I know he didn’t officially accept, but it’s still not right. He should have access to his mother’s vault as his own. I want him to.”

“Then it shall be done,” Griphook sighed drearily. “Draco Malfoy will continue to be considered a child of the House of Black, the same as one Nymphadora Tonks.”

“Thank you, Griphook,” Harry replied gratefully. “Also set aside the Lady’s vault and one for the Heir apparent, and that leaves how many?”

“Nine.”

“Okay, so that’s a total of eighteen, right? So, um,” Harry murmured, doing some quick math. “Let’s start with three each. That’s not bad, a third? And then maybe we can add another one or two.”

“For what?” Neville asked.

“Investments,” Harry added, looking up with a grin. “The Potters have some mediocre investments, but they’ve really been neglected for the last two decades. And the Blacks have a lot of good revenue from real estate but no other good investment sources.” He turned to Griphook. “So let’s start to change that. Setting aside the first three richest vaults for the Lady, the heir apparent, and the heir…”

“Presumptive,” Neville supplied.

“Right, the heir presumptive,” Harry continued. “I want you to take the next three riches vaults and start investing.”

“Anything in particular you would like me to focus your investments on, Mr. Potter?” Griphook asked, already anticipating playing the stocks game with someone else’s money—it was one of the greatest thrills left for a goblin living in this modern age.

“No. Play around,” Harry direct. “Make sure some of the Black monies are used to purchase something muggle, though. I want a diversified portfolio. But make sure any magical company is vetted. I don’t want to be supporting any dark lords or their sympathizers.”

“Good idea,” Neville approved.

“Also make sure the investments remain balanced. Something safe for every something risky. Then place half of any earnings in the three remaining vaults, and reinvest the other half of the earnings. Send me a quarterly report, unless something pops up you think it’s important I see before then.”

“It will be done,” the goblin purred, “with pleasure.”

“Then, if I could have the ward keys for the Potter and Black properties, we’ll be on our way.”

It was not as time-consuming of a visit as it could have been, but it was still almost two hours by the time they had finished signing the appropriate paperwork authorizing the transfer of funds, the arrangement of a new family vault, the approval for an investment adventure, and the recognition of mateship. They had already had a rather exhausting day, and somehow, the time difference seemed to press heavily against their shoulders—which was rationally ridiculous since it was only an hour’s time difference, but Harry was still going to use it as an excuse.

Still, when both boys left Gringotts at just past six, they left with an extra sense of reassurance. They would tell the others as soon as they got home about the family vault for the pard—they had extra keys in their robe pockets to hand out—and Harry had the joyous task of informing Hermione that he’d assigned her access to the Lady Potter vault. He thought it would be a rather appropriate accompaniment to his Christmas gift, actually.

Now to just make their way through the heavy crowds—and what were all these people doing out on Christmas Eve anyway? They should all be home with their families!—back towards the Leaky Cauldron and hop in the floo to Grimauld Place. Harry was looking forward to catching up with Remus and telling him all about Italy and the places they’d gone to… if Hermione hadn’t already, of course.

Who was he kidding? She’s probably talked Remus’s ear off over half an hour ago, Harry thought drollfully.

They had barely left the marbled steps of Gringotts when six wisps of smoke crash into the Alley and begin firing.

***&&&&***

*********

Still more to come…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. Outlines are in place for the next two chapters, which will take us to the end of Christmas, hopefully, and then it's a short hop, skip, and a jump into January & back to Hogwarts!
> 
> Out of curiosity... what all do you think the pard members might get each other for presents? I have a few items listed out on a matrix, but not everyone's got or given a gift yet, and I'd really love some ideas.


	34. Christmas Eve Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pard settles into Grimauld Place for the evening. Harry and Neville handle some Death Eater business in Diagon Alley. Presents!

34 – Christmas Eve Celebrations– 

~THEN~

It was not as time-consuming of a visit to Gringotts as it could have been, but it was still almost two hours by the time Harry and Neville had finished signing all of the appropriate paperwork authorizing the transfer of funds, the arrangement of a new family vault, the approval for an investment adventure, and the recognition of mateship. When both boys left the bank at just past six, they left with an extra sense of reassurance. 

Now to just make their way through the heavy crowds—and what were all these people doing out on Christmas Eve anyway? They should all be home with their families!—back towards the Leaky Cauldron and hop in the floo to Grimauld Place. Harry was looking forward to catching up with Remus and telling him all about Italy and the places they’d gone to… if Hermione hadn’t already, of course. 

Who was he kidding? She’s probably talked Remus’s ear off over half an hour ago, Harry thought drollfully. 

They had barely left the marbled steps of Gringotts when six wisps of smoke crash into the Alley and begin firing. 

 

~NOW~

 

\- Wednesday, December 24, London - 

Hermione stepped through the floo and into the basement kitchen of 12 Grimauld last. The others had thankfully stepped out of the way, although they were all in the kitchen still staring back at Professor Lupin rather bemusedly. 

“Decided to bring the whole family back with you, I see,” Remus teased jovially. “I trust you had an enjoyable time in Italy, then? You all look well and rested.” And then he frowned when the floo didn’t flare again. “Where’s Harry?” 

“He and Neville decided to make their trip to Gringotts while they were still in the Alley,” Hermione answered, removing her outer cloak. “Remus, I trust you remember everyone?” 

“I do,” he confirmed. “Misses Lovegood, Abbot, Bones, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Mr. Zabini, while surprising, it is no less enjoyable.” 

“Professor Lupin,” Luna greeted while the other two girls fumbled a bit with their cloaks and parcels. 

“Here,” Blaise offered, stepping up to first Hannah and then Susan to help them. Hannah smiled beautifully up at him and then leaned up to buss his lips quickly before turning her attention to the professor. 

“Professor Lupin! It really is good to see you again. You were quite honestly one of the best Defense professors we’ve had—well, aside from Harry, that is, of course, but you taught Harry, so, yeah,” the blonde rambled a bit before Hermione ran a hand down along her arm. 

“Remus lives here,” Hermione started. 

“I thought this was the Black’s townhome?” Susan frowned, somewhat confused. 

“It is,” Hermione confirmed, “And Remus lives here. That won’t be a problem, will it?” 

“What?” Susan asked, surprised. “No, what should it?” 

“I believe Hermione might be referring to the professor’s monthly affliction,” Blaise supplied. 

“Oh?” Susan started before realization dawned. “Oh! I had forgotten all about that.” 

Remus smiled genially. “Some people have trouble remembering anything else about me.” 

“Quite honestly, I’m more concerned with where I’ll be sleeping,” Susan told him. 

“Yes, it’s been quite a day,” Hannah agreed. “Not that I didn’t love meeting some of your family, Blaise, but…” She trailed off uncertainly. 

Blaise grinned. “They can be rather much all at once, can’t they?” he teased. “And just think—that was only half of my aunts and uncles and none of my cousins.”

“There’s more?” Hermione asked, rather wide-eyed. 

“Quite,” Blaise answered, grinning toothily.

There was a small POP! 

“Winky be making sure Mistress’s family and guest’s rooms be ready for them,” the little elf informed them. 

“Thank you, Winky,” Hermione said. “Shall we unpack and then relax a bit as we wait for the boys?” 

“Maybe a quick tour first?” Hannah asked. 

“It’s said that the Blacks kept a torture chamber in their home,” Luna shared. 

Remus coughed. “Not that we’ve found,” he confided. “And a good many of us have been up and down this place.” 

“Us?” Blaise queried, remember the secret slip of parchment. “The Order of the Phoenix, you mean?”

“Ah, yes,” Remus half-grimaced abashedly. “Dumbledore will probably be wanting to speak with you all individually now that you’re in the know about this place.” 

“I would hardly say we’re in the know,” Blaise protested mildly. 

“Wasn’t the Order of the Phoenix a secret organization created by Headmaster Dumbledore during the first war?” Susan asked, fairly sure she remembered her Auntie Amelia telling her such when she was younger. 

“Something like that,” Remus allowed before turning attention to Hermione. “Did you want to lead your… your pard, or…?” 

“No, that’s fine, Remus.” Hermione smiled gratefully at the man. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your afternoon already. I can show everyone around.” 

“It’s fine,” the older man blushed. “I was just reading while listening to the wireless, nothing important.” 

Of course, he hadn’t meant to have fallen asleep on the small couch. And Hermione’s mad tearing through the house early had shocked him into awareness and he’d fallen sideways off the couch, landing rather roughly on the floor. 

“Very well. We’ll see you in the study in a little bit?” she wondered. 

“That will be fine,” he agreed. “I’d love to hear about your holiday in Italy.” 

She smiled back at him beautifully. “Of course!” And then turned to the others. “Come on. The kitchen is in the basement. And there’s just the dining room on the ground floor,” Hermione explained, leading the troupe up. “Susan, you can sleep in the first-floor bedroom. It’s the room Ginny and I used when we stayed here before.” 

“That’ll be fine,” Susan responded. “I don’t fancy having to climb up and down all these stairs. “There’s a toilet nearby?” 

“Yes!” Hermione answered, sounding especially grateful. “One of each of the floors, in fact, although the ground floor is just a toilet and not a full bath. Still,” she added, “when the house is full of order members, it’s really great to have five functional toilets!” 

Hannah snickered. “Not to mention once we’re heavily pregnant it’ll be convenient to get to the loo!” 

Hermione blinked. “I hadn’t actually thought of that, but…” She bit her lip for just a second. “Well, chances are we won’t even be here, so it’s not like it matters all that much. Still—!” She reached the landing and motioned to the short hallways with two doors. “The first is the bathroom. The second will be your room, Susan. And right down here is the drawing room, which also serves as the study. I’ll just show the others to their rooms and we’ll meet you in there in just a few.” 

“Mmhmm,” Susan agreed, unconvinced the others would really be ‘just a few’. She practically laughed allowed as she went to set her bags in her assigned room. 

They had to manhandle Luna just a little bit to prevent the girl from going into the drawing room immediately—although the girl’s amused smile indicated she didn’t mind her pard mate’s hands on her in the least. And soon enough they were climbing the stairs up to the second floor. 

“The Master bedroom and the room Harry and Ron used to share are up here,” Hermione continued. “The Weasleys stayed here for a summer. The third floor has another three bedrooms, one of which is Remus’s, and then the fourth floor is the children’s rooms. I’m not actually sure what’s in the attic, though.” 

“It’s quite a decent townhome,” Blaise murmured, “But what I wonder is: is the master bed big enough for all of us?” 

Hermione blushed, leading them all into the Master bedroom. It was nothing lush or overly fancy. It wasn’t even all that big, considering the supposed wealth and prosperity of the Black Family. But then again, this was a town home, not some country manor or palace. 

“It’s actually a new bed,” she confessed. “Previously there were two separate beds in here, but the Order got rid of those sometime last year and just the one double bed was left in here. But then when Harry and I arrived a week ago, Harry requested a new bed be purchased…for the pard,” she added eyeing the monstrosity. 

“Would you say it’s orgy-sized?” Luna mused. 

Hannah laughed and took a running leap onto the mattress, her blonde hair fanning out against the green comforter. “It’s perfect!” 

A moment later, an equally giggly Luna joined her. The two girls started up a tickle war almost immediately. Hermione, however, sighed and waved her wand to summon their bags and begin the process of unpacking.

“Hermione,” Blaise cajoled, reaching out for her free hand. “Relax. Your elf can handle that.” 

“She shouldn’t have to,” the girl snapped at him, shaking her hand free and causing Blaise to frown. “I’m perfectly capable of putting my own things away, thank you!” 

“You’re tense,” he stated calmly, softly enough that the two on the bed didn’t notice. He reached out again, slowly, no sudden moves. Hermione was visibly trembling. With an almost exaggerated care, he took her into his arms. “This isn’t about all of us sharing a bed, is it?” he wondered aloud, “because, as you said, there are other rooms going unused right now…” 

She bristled, and mentally he congratulated himself of distracting her from whatever was scaring her. Not that they could avoid it for very long. Avoiding what one feared wasn’t as healthy for Gryffindors as it was for Slytherins—or Hufflepuffs for that matter, he added with a quick glance at the bed. 

“I’m not so prudish that I can’t share a bed with everyone,” Hermione hissed at him. 

He couldn’t help the grin that stretched his lips. He pressed his smile against her throat and murmured against her skin, “Oh, no. You might have the rest of the school fooled, but I have tasted of your passion, Hermione Granger.” He trailed his teeth against the delicate skin of her throat and felt her tremble for a whole other reason. “You are no prude.” 

He pulled back—just enough so that he could look her in the face without going cross-eyed. “But you do withhold all of yourself from our mates.” She looked away. “I wonder why that is.” 

“Look Blaise, I get it. You’re an incubus. You’re naturally more sexually aware then other people. But not everyone is all sexually active and comfortable with exploring their limits. I mean, until this year, the most I’d ever done with a boy was kiss a few times and some light petting. And then this thing with Harry—it came out of nowhere! He’s my best friend, and I love him, I do, but I never intended to be in love with him. Honestly, I really kind of expected him to end up with Ginny or someone like that. The fact that he turned to me, chose me first… well, I know that’s more out of proximity than anything else, but that he really loves me back? I’m still a bit in shock over that, if I’m being truthful. And before I’d even wrapped my head around the fact I was suddenly in a romantic, sexual relationship with someone I had only ever considered one of my best friends, he’s bringing Hannah into our rooms. And then it was Luna, and Neville, and now you, and… I really haven’t had enough time to adjust,” she finished softly. 

At some point, her diatribe had garnered the attention of the two girls on the bed, and they had ceased their tickle battle and were sitting abashedly on the bed, not quite able to look up at Hermione. 

“I’m sorry I’m the only one who seems to be having trouble adjusting to our new normal, as the case may be, but I am trying.” 

“We know you are,” Luna responded, sliding off the bed and approaching Hermione to give her a hug. 

“We don’t mean to be pushy or pressure you,” Hannah added, sliding in to offer her own embrace. 

“You’re not,” Hermione protested. “You haven’t been. At all. It’s just that you all seemed to have taken to this new concept of normal with ease, and I’m the only one who seems to be struggling with it. And I hate it. I feel like I’m the one holding us all back from something because I’m constantly uncomfortable with the level of openness and freedom to express yourselves you all seem to have.” 

“Hermione, no one wants you to be anything you’re not,” Luna reasoned. “We love you for who you are.” 

Hermione huffed out a small inappreciative laugh. “And I believe you truly do mean that, I do.” 

“Let’s just take a moment to all lay on the bed,” Hannah suggested. “We’ll do nothing but cuddle and appreciate this nice big bed.” 

“Susan’s waiting for us,” Hermione protested. 

“I somehow doubt it, but even if she is,” Hannah countered, “She can stand to wait a few more minutes. Just cuddle with us, Hermione. No pressure to do anything else with us. We know you’re not attracted to us.” 

“You’re both very attractive,” Hermione protested. “Each in your own way.” 

“Well, thank you. You’ve very attractive, too, but you’re not attracted to us, like that, and we get that. It’s okay, Hermione.” She drew away, hand sliding down Hermione’s arm until her fingers could curl around the Head Girl’s and tug gently. The others melted and flowed together, helping each other crawl onto the bed and arranged themselves as comfortably as possible. Blaise slid behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and nuzzling against her shoulder. Hannah burrowed her hands and feet against Hermione’s side, Luna curled up behind her, absently braiding Hannah’s golden hair, as she tucked her head against Hermione’s chest. 

“Is this okay?” Hannah murmured. 

“This is fine,” Hermione acknowledge before shifting. “But why are your hands and feet always so cold?” 

“Why are you always so hot?” Hannah retorted. 

“She can’t help it,” Blaise defended. “She’s a fire elemental.” 

Luna beamed. “Hermione is hot. I suspect it’s because she’s really smart, too.” 

“Don’t be sexy, Luna. We’re being cuddly now.” 

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, Luna, cuddly now.” 

They ended up falling asleep like that, but it was only for a short nap that left them all refreshed when they joined Susan and Remus downstairs a little under an hour later. 

Susan had been talking with Remus when they arrived. “There they are,” Susan teased. We didn’t want to disturb you in case you were all actually sleeping.” 

“Oh, ha,” Hannah retorted. “we actually were just napping, though. Promise. No sexy times.” 

“And I think that’s a little bit too much information for me,” Remus hastily made to gather his tea up and stand. 

“Oh sit, Remus,” Hermione scoffed. “We really were just cuddling. It’s fine. I’m to take it that Harry and Neville haven’t returned yet?” she asked, frowning. 

Blaise ran a hand down her spine, but instead of soothing and reassuring her, he only ended up angering her further. 

“Back off, Blaise. I don’t need managing,” she growled at him. 

He did as she commanded and backed off. “I merely wanted to help you, not manipulate you.” 

“I’m sorry,” she responded, immediately contrite. “I know I’m being unreasonable today. I don’t know why. I just… I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of Harry and Neville being out of my sight right now. 

Harry not being here, is it? He thought. That might be a piece of the puzzle, but Blaise didn’t think that was all. Still, it was Christmas Eve and their little family was gathered by the fireside, waiting for their missing two to return before having a light dinner. It was cozy and comfortable, stretched out in a chair, listening to the girls chat, adding a comment or two himself, as Hermione especially talk Professor Lupin’s ear off. To give the man credit, he certainly seemed interested in their travels and sight-seeing. 

And then there was a news break from the wireless playing softly in the corner. 

“My fellow wizards and witches, we have just received alert messages that a fear party of Death Eaters has been spotted entering Diagon Alley. We urge you to seek shelter.” 

Not even a second later, Remus was on his feet, conjuring his patronus and sounding the alert for the Order. 

~~~~&&&&~~~~

~Diagon Alley~ 

Harry and Neville were just leaving Gringotts when the Death Eaters attacked. A quick glance confirmed that it was a small fear party—only six members, usually newbies or junior ranking Death Eaters, whose mission was to cause as much fear and destruction in as little amount of time as possible. It was one of the fundamental tactics of Voldemort’s forces. 

It was extremely effective. 

Before the shapes had even finished rematerializing, the Death Eaters were already throwing curses around. Screams and cries filled the air before the first explosion took out a chunk of a building, spewing dust and rabble, choking and blinding. A stampede of pounding feet as the witches and wizards scrambled to run away. 

The Death Eaters laughed, shooting curses at the backs of the hapless sheep as they trampled over the fallen, desperate to escape. 

Harry’s wand was in his hand, a disarming and stunner flying from its tip, followed by a cutting curse. Beside him, Neville shot an aguamenti at a thatched roof that was starting to take flame, followed by a disarming and finally a shield as the Death Eaters took noticed that there was someone actually fighting back. 

“Two minutes!” shouted one of the masked men—he sounded more like a boy. 

Harry darted away from the steps, weaving through the cart stands of the Alley, stabbing his wand out and casting every chance he got. “Incarcerous! Diffindo! Everte Statum! Expelliarmus!” 

Duck. Run. Cover as the cart he had just been hiding behind exploded into a cloud of splinters and dried herbs. Pop up and repeat. 

Neville, meanwhile, took shelter behind a corner of a building, throwing a shield up to cover a screaming kid who had somehow gotten separated from her parent just as one of the Death Eaters shot an ugly orange spell at her. Another quick swish and flick saw a stream of water surrounding the Death Eater’s feet before turning to ice. When the Death Eater moved to turn, he slipped and landed hard on his arse. 

“Three!” the one from before shouted before crying as a cutting charm sliced into his arm. “Go! Go!” 

“NO!” Harry shouted, running out from behind his cover, but it was too late. In a series of almost overlapping pops, the Death Eaters apparated away. 

Harry cursed, panting heavily. Neville emerged more cautiously, taking in the surrounding area. “You got one at least,” he pointed out, nudge Harry towards the one stunned Death Eater. 

Angrily, Harry jabbed his wand at the unconscious Death Eater, casting another knock-out along with a binding spell. Then he followed Neville over to where there were several bodies lying on the ground. Thankfully, many were moaning and crying in pain. Some were frightfully still and quiet. 

When the aurors finally arrive, nearly another five minutes later, some of the braver witless shoppers had begun to return to the streets. The little girl Neville had saved was returned to her older cousin, only a little banged up. Other family members were screaming and crying while some people actually proved useful in helping bandage up or heal some scraps and cuts. Those who could and needed to be were already making their way to Saint Mungo’s. At least two people were beyond even the Healers’ help. 

“What’s going on here?” an auror Harry didn’t know demanded. 

“What do you think is going on here?” Harry retorted angrily. “There are three people over there who need help making it to Saint Mungo’s. I trust you have some way to handle that? And while you’re at it, there’s one Death Eater tied up under that tarp right behind you.”

“Is he dead?” the auror asked accusingly. 

“He wasn’t when we threw the tarp over him,” Harry replied, helping up a woman who’s nose and little finger had been smashed when she had been pushed to the ground and trodden over by the panicked crowd. “If he is now, it’s because nobody really cared to check on him before taking care of the innocents. Episky! Episky! There,” he said more gently to the women. “You should still head over to Saint Mungo’s and have a proper medi-witch look you over, alright? Do you have someone who can take you?” 

She nodded and thanked him, and Harry turned to look for the next person he could help. 

“And just who are you?” the auror demanded, stepping into Harry’s path. 

Harry looked up at him, almost disbelieving. A quick glance around showed the other aurors actually doing something to be helpful. Every one of them except the hulking bruiser in front of him. Harry took a closer look—he had a bit of the build for a beater, maybe. But it was more than obvious the big man was used to using his size to intimidate and possibly bully others. 

Not that it was an effective tactic on Harry. He might have enjoyed a growth spurt this year with his inheritance, but he’d lived most of his life as a short little runt who had to look up to most everyone around him. 

He reached up and coolly brushed aside his bangs, as if he was wiping his forehead of perspiration that didn’t really exist—the fight was over too soon for him to have worked up a sweat. The big man’s eyes flicked up, watching the movement suspiciously… and then widened. And Harry knew he’d seen and recognized the damnable scar that was as good as any name tag in the British wizarding world. He if didn’t have to, he’d rather prefer not having to say his name out loud in this crowd. 

“And you are?” Harry returned. 

The auror’s mouth twisted. “Senior Auror Randall.” 

He didn’t immediately recognize the name, but that wasn’t overly surprising. “Well, Senior Auror Randall, care to explain what took you so long to get here?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“The Death Eaters that attacked us—a fear party, by the way. There were only six of them—were here and gone in under ten minutes. It took you and your aurors nearly twice as long to arrive, and instead of trying to help people who are clearly hurt or in shock, you start barking out demands,” Harry accused, his anger bleeding heavily into his voice as his volume rose. “You just show up and start asking ‘what’s going on here?’ Really? Like you don’t already know what’s happened or else why the hell are you and a full team of aurors here?” 

“Harry,” Neville called warningly. 

“What?” he demanded, turning to look at his mate, only then noticing the crowd starting to swell around them again. He turned back to the auror who was trying to look all glaring and menacing. “I’ll tell you what’s going on here. Six Death Eaters appeared in the middle of the Alley and started throwing hexes and curses. And instead of shielding and returning fire, nearly ever damn person on this street turned tail and ran like a bunch of cowards. They gave their backs to a bunch of dogs and might as well have stuck targets on themselves. And they got bit. They got bit because they couldn’t be half arsed to stand up for themselves and each other. 

“Six. Six stupid baby Death Eaters who weren’t even here for a full five minutes. There were over fifty people in this Alley—more if you count the ones who hid in the shops—and not one of them thought to shield themselves or fire a charm back.” 

“They’re civilians, Potter.” 

“We are in a civil war,” Harry returned. “There are no civilians.”

“Can I quote you on that, Mr. Potter?” another voice called from the crowd, and Harry turned to see someone scribbling something quickly, not even looking directly at Harry, so concentrate on his writing. 

“Sure. And here’s another—in this war it is every able witch and wizard’s responsibility to protect themselves and each other. Each and every single wizard and witch has the responsibility to stand up and protect themselves and their families from the menace that is Voldemort and his Death Eaters. They are nothing but a bunch of bullies and terrorists. But they are few, and we are many. Stop being a slave to your fear.” 

“Harry,” Neville whispered urgently, pushing up to his side. “We should go. The girls will be worried.” 

Harry was still angry—annoyed with himself for not being able to stop more of the Death Eaters (one out of six wasn’t very good odds in his opinion, although he had managed to hurt several others), annoyed with the aurors who didn’t arrive sooner, and weren’t very organized when they did get there, and he was even annoyed at the regular witches and wizards who screamed and cried and tried to hide or run away instead of fighting to protect themselves. 

No. He wasn’t just annoyed, he was disgusted. 

“Happy effing Christmas,” he growled before turning away with Neville, be-lining it to the Leakey Cauldron and its floo. 

“You remember where we’re going?” 

“12 Grimauld Place,” Neville called, stepping into the floo. Harry barely waited for the flames to turn yellow again before he was throwing his pinch of floo powder into the fire and following his mate. He only stumbled a bit on his exit, but Neville was there to steady him. 

And in a surprising flurry of motion, Neville found himself whirled around and his back colliding with the wall just to the side of the fireplace. Lips crashed against his, a tongue pushed into his mouth before he could even regain his breath. 

“You all right?” Harry whispered when he finally pulled back enough to rest his forehead against Neville. 

“I’m not hurt,” he answered, panting and licking his lips a bit. “A little tired, but nothing a shower and a good night’s rest won’t cure. What about you?” 

“I’m angry,” Harry growled, fisting his hands in Neville’s cloak. “What if you had gotten hurt? What if one of the girls were there and they had gotten hurt?” 

Neville kissed him, much gentler than Harry’s kiss. “If the girls were there, then they would’ve fought beside you, too, and maybe there’d be more than just one less Death Eater out there right now. The girls are really vicious—you know that,” Neville rushed to add when it looked like Harry was about to protest. “Besides, they weren’t there, and I didn’t get hurt, and neither did you. We’re both all right and there’s one less Death Eater out free in the world. A pretty good thing if you ask me, yeah?” 

A clattering from the stairs heralded the girls, Blaise, and Remus pouring into the room. Harry somewhat reluctantly released Neville, luckily in enough time to catch Hermione before she crashed into them both. 

“Oh my god! What happened?” Hermione demanded. “Are you two okay? We were beginning to worry—you were much later than you should have been— and then there were reports on the wireless about Diagon Alley being attacked and—”

“We’re fine,” Harry reassured. “We’re both fine. It was a rather fortuitous timing. We were leaving Gringotts right when the Death Eaters decided to attack. There were only six of them, and we were well covered. Unfortunately, all but one managed to get away. It was all over almost as soon as it begun. We stuck around until the aurors showed up, and then we came right back here.” 

Hermione hugged him tight. “That’s the second time this holiday!” 

He was at a lost for a moment. “Yeah, well, at least they weren’t purposefully targeting us…?” 

‘This time’ went unspoken. 

“Will Mistress and guests be wanting their dinner soons?” Winky spoke up tentatively, highly sensitive to the tension in the air. 

“That would be good,” Hermione agreed. 

“Ooh! And then maybe we could all sit beside the tree and watch the yule log,” Hannah exclaimed. “And maybe we could each open just one gift!” 

“Presents on Christmas Eve!” Luna joined in on her enthusiasm, and really? Who could deny those two something when they teamed up? 

 

~~~~&&&&&~~~~ 

Remus sat tucked away in a chair strategically placed in the corner of the room specifically for the purpose of being forgotten. It allowed him to observe Harry and his mates without really disturbing the teens. 

Watching them, he felt torn. 

In the one circumstance, he could remember James, Sirius, Peter, and he during their final year of Hogwarts and the year after, feeling so grown up. They were young adults, ready to take on the world. They had thought they had so many answers… so much time to solve the world’s problems. 

They had been so very young and so very stupid. 

Harry and his mates weren’t very much different. Not really. All young adults—mature and yet immature at the same time. Still very much in the process of growing into themselves as a person. Of course, thanks to Harry’s creature inheritance, they at least knew for sure they would stay together for the long haul. 

How easily he could remember James’s nervousness when he finally decided to ask Lily to marry him—what if she said no? Or Peter and that one girl he’d been pretty serious about… They’d all thought for sure Peter was going to ask her to marry him. What was her name again? Anne, he thought, maybe. The girl had moved away. A shame. Who knows how things might have gone differently if she’d stayed in England, but who could blame her? 

Not that it really mattered now. That was all almost twenty years ago. 

How was that possible? Twenty years. Gone. Just like that. 

He had a moment to wonder what he had done with himself in those twenty years—what had he accomplished? Not a whole hell of a lot, that’s for sure. Even for a person with his affliction, his personal record was a rather sorely lacking detail. He had graduated from Hogwarts rather well off—six NEWTS wasn’t anything to sneeze about. Of course, he largely expected this group in front of him to achieve their NEWTS easily enough as well. He understood Hermione and Luna were taking eight NEWT level classes! Crazy, but he remembered Lily taking an absurd number of NEWTS as well, though he couldn’t remember exactly how many. 

Was it strange that they weren’t all Gryffindors, he wondered. 

No, not really. In fact, it probably made more sense that they weren’t all from the same house. James had been the quintessential Gryffindor, and although Harry might have looked uncannily like James when he was younger, there was no mistaking Harry as his own wizard now. He’d always been a bit more like Lily in his attitude and personality, but he still wasn’t just a carbon copy of his mother, either. There was a complexity to Harry that James had simply lacked. It was that complexity that allowed this group in front of him to work so well. 

A vanteera. How the hell had that happened, Remus wondered. Inheritances were always a tricky thing. There was no real indication of who might receive a special surprise from the family bloodline. Most of the time there was no outward sign of who had received a creature inheritance, either. Usually, unless you were told or the person wigged out on you, it was difficult to discern. 

The Mauradeers had sat around their dormitory stove one night near the beginning of their sixth year, discussing the possibility of their family inheritances. Due to his little monthly problem, Remus hadn’t been expecting anything other than a little power boost from his own magical inheritance; nor had Peter, but James and Sirius had been more than a little nervous. Digging up their spades of false bravado, they had flung around all the dirty secrets of their family in a not-uncommon game of one-up-man-ship, that wasn’t helped at all by James’s mother being a Black. 

But a vanteera… that was something else. Something epic. Fabled. 

So, of course, that’s what Harry had received. He wondered if his cub would ever catch a break. Then again, watching him interact with his friends—his lovers? Oh! And wasn’t that a bad thought! Bad thought! No, no, no! His cub was too innocent and sweet and young to be having lovers! And then he remembered Hermione was already in the family way, and suddenly he was excited for grand-cubs!—maybe this inheritance wasn’t such a bad thing. 

“Here! Open mine first!” Hannah exclaimed, catching Remus’s attention once more. The sun kissed blonde was excitedly thrusting a gayfully wrapped box into Luna’s hands as they both sat on the floor between the fireplace and the tree with its pile of presents. 

“I don’t think,” Hermione started to protest from her seat on the settee, but Luna was already unwrapping her present with a little squeal of delight—something Remus didn’t think he’d ever heard from the girl before. Granted, she’d been a second year the last time he’d had any real interaction with her. 

Hermione huffed. “We should be allowed to pick out which present we want to open,” she practically pouted. 

Neville tore his eyes away from the two blondes, grinning as he leaned over and into her, he cut his eyes up to her face and murmured, “They’re fine, Hermione. Don’t worry. Which present would you like to open?” he countered, redirecting her attention from the now giggling girls as Luna waved a ribbon wand through the air and music sounded. 

Hermione studied her small pile of gifts for a moment before, with a wave of her wand, she selected a midsized box wrapped in Christmas green with silver bells and a red velvety bow. She checked the little card before smiling back at Neville. “Yours?” 

He smiled back at her, leaning back into the newly re-stuffed cushions to watch her open his present. 

She systematically removed the spello-tape holding the paper in place, and then moved the wrapping and tissue paper beneath. If he hadn’t been watching her, Remus might have missed the tiny gasp and look of delighted recognition that lit her face. 

“This summer,” Neville told her, “if we’re somewhere settled, I will make sure you have a flower garden, like the one you said your grandmother had, and you can hang this birdfeeder and watch the birds on lazy summer mornings,” he promised. 

Hermione’s fingers ran over the seemingly delicate porcelain of the birdfeeder. “It was just a off-comment,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean for anyone to have to buy it.” 

“It seemed like it was a good memory for you,” Neville countered. “And it wasn’t like what I was planning on giving you before was anything spectacular. The hardest part was distracting you in that little gift shop so you didn’t notice me purchasing it. Luckily for me, they had a book section.” 

“I’m not that bad!” Hermione protested, looking up at him. But his grin and that twinkling light in his eyes was enough for Remus to tell, even from across the room, that Neville was teasing her. 

And then Neville leaned in and tenderly kissed her cheek—and if Remus hadn’t have had excellent hearing, he would have missed Neville’s reply: “You’re not bad at all.” 

Another squeal from the two girls on the floor redirected Remus’s attention, as Susan, Hannah and Luna sat in a sea of torn wrapping paper. Hannah scrambled to her feet and launched herself at Harry, who had been sitting in one of the armchairs watching everyone, nearly bowling a laughing Susan over. 

“It’s absolutely darling,” the blonde exclaimed, hugging and kissing Harry. For his part, Harry seemed quite comfortable with the act, pulling the girl properly into her lap and wrapping an arm about her waist. 

“What did you get?” Hermione asked curiously, leaning forward as if to try and make sense of what was still slightly hidden by the paper. 

Luna brushed some of the paper aside, and angled the box for Hermione to see. Hannah spilled out of a Harry’s lap and back onto the floor, snagging up the box and maneuvering it closer over to Hermione and Neville. Reverently, she reached in and withdrew one of the seemingly delicate porcelain tea cups. The edges were rimmed in gold, and the design was floral and fine. 

“It’s a twenty-person set,” Harry put in. “I figured if and when we have guests, you wouldn’t want to mix up your tea cups.” 

“I love it!” Hannah proclaimed. 

“Well, I suppose,” Blaise drawled summoning a present and sending it along to Neville. “You should open mine.” 

Neville grinned and accepted the box. “What could it be?” he wondered aloud, giving the box a mock little shake. “Not a book,” he added with an aside look towards Hermione. 

“I’ll have you know that I do not always give people books as gifts,” the girl huffed and rolled her eyes. 

He laughed and settled the box on his lap to unwrap. The antique-looking wooden box inside was very handsome on its own, but when he unclasped and lifted the lid, Neville discovered a decent collection of various herbal teas. He lifted one to his nose and inhaled deeply—the scent soothing and near enough to divine to leave him smiling. 

“I figured you could still use the box,” Blaise explained, “To store some of your seeds?” 

“Or more tea,” Neville returned. “Especially if any of this is even half as good as it smells.” 

“Ooh! We should have a tea party!” Luna exclaimed, clapping happily. 

“Not tonight,” Hermione countered. “Tomorrow’s another busy day of visiting.” 

“Maybe next year we’ll have our own place set up enough that everyone can come visit us instead,” Hannah purposed innocently enough, carefully tucking her tea set away back under the tree. “Oh, Susan, that blue really is lovely on you!” she added, spying the redhead holding up a satiny winter cloak. 

“Blaise? Harry?” Hermione drew their attention. “Which present would you like to open tonight?” 

“Any is fine by me,” Harry responded, forcing a smile onto his face. “Here, Luna, hand me one from my pile?” 

“I’ll open the gold paper wrapped one,” Blaise responded, accepting the package from Susan who was closest to his pile. 

“Oh, that’s from me,” Hermione started, biting her lip. “I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought you could—”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Blaise smiled over at her. “After all, you probably didn’t expect to need to have a gift for me, and really, it wasn’t necessary.” 

“Oh, but it would have been, well, not done not to include you, too, when you’re part of this pard,” Hermione protested. 

“But I wasn’t, not even three weeks ago,” he pointed out even as he continued to unwrap his gift, equally as excited as the girls to see what Hermione had thought to gift him. Stationary. 

“I know,” Hermione said, disappointment coloring her voice. “Not very… personal, and perhaps a bit on the touristy side,” she added. “But I rather liked the idea of getting you something from one of the shops we were in, and this was such a lovely set. I thought you might enjoy it, although, I realize it’s not very practical…”

“It is a lovely gift,” Blaise cut her off. “And I know just how I will use it, so indeed, it’s quite practically.” He grinned at her. “Thank you. This is from the magical museum outside of Genoa, isn’t it?” 

She colored. “Yes. I was looking for something in Portofino properly, but, well…” 

“Thank you, Hermione. I shall put this to good use.” 

Harry was tearing into his own present—shiny blue paper peeling away to reveal a plain shoe box. Bemused, he opened it. Inside was another smaller box and a book. Taking it out, he quickly realized it wasn’t just any book but a hand-written journal. He flipped to the first page. 

Elizabeth Mae Longbottom nee Potter

He looked up to Neville, surprised. 

“Most wizarding families are intermarried somewhere along the lines,” Neville responded with a tiny shoulder twitch. “I got to thinking, there might’ve been some personal journals from some Potters somewhere in the Longbottom library, so I had an elf look, and, well, so far she’s only found the one, but, I figured it was something to start with. I can’t say if it’s interesting or not. Really the family journals was never a favorite past time of mine,” he confessed, “and I only ever got around to reading the ones Gran insisted upon. Sorry.” 

“No, this is brilliant,” Harry insisted. He had so little of his family… “Thank you.” 

“And, well, as for the other…” Neville hesitated, shooting a nervous look over towards Remus. “I contacted Professor Lupin earlier—I knew you were close, of course, but I wasn’t sure if he might have access to your family vaults or not, but he was able to help me.” 

Curious, Harry opened the second box not sure what to expect really… although a pocket watch really wasn’t it. It was nice, though. Engraved on one side with a family crest and Latin on the other. 

Fortune and Virtue. 

And then he flipped back to the family crest on the front, realization dawning on him… He’d seen the crest before because it was his family crest, the Potters. He just hadn’t really looked at any of his crested belongings too closely before—they were all sitting down in one of Gringotts’ vaults, waiting for him to finally have a place to put it all. But, yeah… this was the Potter family crest, now that he was looking at it, he could even see the hippocamp sitting atop the helm, which he’d thought was kind of funny the first couple of times he’d noticed it. And the motto on the back… 

“It’s customary for the sons of a family to receive a pocket watch on their seventeenth birthday,” Neville supplied. “Often times they’re passed down in the family, but not always. I asked Remus about it when I noticed you’d never replaced your watch. At first, I thought of maybe getting you a muggle watch—apparently, they can do all sorts of things, but… well, I’m still not too sure of my way around on my own, and other than this last week, I wasn’t really ever in muggle areas, you know. And, besides, Remus was already helping me get this made for you, so… Do you like it?” 

“It’s brilliant, Nev. Thank you,” Harry breathed, and he meant it. The journal was pretty neat, and he had every intention of reading it. The pocket watch was also really cool—sure, it wasn’t a family heirloom or anything, but it was a little piece of his family he could carry around with him, and that was really cool. 

“And with that,” Remus sighed, pushing to his feet, “I think I’ll turn in for the evening. If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Don’t you want to open one of your presents tonight?” Hannah ask, finished rearranging Neville’s tea box and Hermione’s bird feeder back under the tree. 

“Oh, well,” Remus paused. “I suppose it won’t hurt, only a few hours early… If you would be so kind as to pass me that purple one?” 

He accepted the gift and turned to leave. 

“You’re not going to open it?” Hermione asked, surprised. 

“Don’t need to,” Remus answered with a grin, bringing the box up to his nose and inhaling deeply. “A fine selection of Honeyduke’s finest. Thank you, Harry.”

The other grinned back at him. “You’re easy to shop for. G’night, Remus. Try not to eat too much tonight. You don’t want to be sick tomorrow!” 

“Never fear,” the older man replied. “I know my limits quite well when it comes to chocolate.” 

They chuckled at that… and then lapsed into a comfortable silence for several minutes, cuddled into one another, listening to the fire crackle lazily, their bellies overstuffed from all the good food that day and bodies languid. 

“I suppose we really should head up to bed,” Luna finally voiced, although she made no move to actually get up. 

“The bed is too far away,” Hannah groused sleepily. “Too many stairs.” 

“I have a perfectly fine bed right down the hall, no stairs needed,” Susan responded smugly. 

“Does anyone else find it a little bit funny that the so-called ‘hardworking’ lot is put off by a single flight of stairs?” Neville teasingly asked. “Even the snakes have to walk some stairs to get to their pit in the evening.” 

“Ah, but that’s going down,” Blaise returned, grinning. 

“Something you’re very experienced at,” Luna supplied. She waited a beat, seeming to savor the stunned silence of the others and they processed her statement. 

“I trust that’s not a complaint,” the Italian drawled, shooting her a smoky look. 

“Of course not.” And then she added, “Of course, ravens prefer to be on top, in almost all endeavors.” 

“How fortunate for me, then,” he purred, offering her a hand and pulling her into his lap. He nibbled at her neck before whispering in her ear. With a giggle, she was up off his lap again and darting out of the room. Still grinning, Blaise stood and stretched. “If you’ll excuse us,” he tossed out before following her. 

Neville buried his face against the sofa pillow, groaning. 

“At least they waited until Remus was gone?” Hermione offered in joined commiseration. 

“Come on,” Susan slurred, tugging at Hannah’s hand. “If you can make it to my room, you can sleep with me tonight and then brave the stairs tomorrow.” 

“Oh, that does sound infinitely better than trying to crawl up those stairs tonight,” Hannah murmured, dragging herself to her feet. 

Watching the two girls go, the three remaining stayed where they for several long minutes more… until finally Neville shifted. 

“I should probably go find a bed or else I’m going to fall asleep right here,” he murmured, stifling a yawn. 

“The master suite is one floor up,” Hermione put in. “Door at the end of the hall.” 

Neville nodded. “All the rest of the rooms should be free then, right? Well, except for wherever Professor Lupin sleeps, I guess.” 

Hermione blinked, reaching out to clasp his hand as he passed, a frown pulling at her face. “No, I meant… I mean, that is to say, if you wanted to sleep somewhere else,” she stressed, “You could, of course, but… our room is right upstairs. I don’t know if Blaise and Luna went there already, or they might have popped into the first room, but…” 

“I just thought,” Neville hesitated, looking back over to where Harry was sitting, watching them. He’d been pretty quiet most the night, and Neville wondered if he was still angry over the events from Diagon Alley. 

Hermione reached out her other hand towards him, and he took it, helping her up. When she swayed, his hands went to her waist, steadying her. She leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed. Harry, you coming?” 

“I’ll be there in a bit,” he answered, meeting Neville’s wide-eyed surprised look with a nod. Neville swallowed, and then turned to help Hermione up to bed. Harry sat, staring at the fire and contemplating his Dark Lord problem for a while longer. 

 

 

*********   
Still more to come…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it distinctly odd to be writing about Christmas when it's the end of August/early September. Anyhoo... this will probably be the last chapter for a while. I'm hoping for November to assist in finishing this story. 50K should make a nice dent in seeing that happen (nanowrimo). Next chapter will cover Hermione and Neville, Christmas morning, and the visit to White Horse. By the end of chapter 36 we should be returned to Hogwarts! 
> 
> This is a work in progress. Slow updates (4-7 per year).


	35. Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tricks, treats, and eats with the pard as they celebrate the Christmas day.

35 – Christmas– 

~THEN~  
“I suppose we really should head up to bed,” Luna finally voiced, although she made no move to actually get up. 

“The bed is too far away,” Hannah groused sleepily. “Too many stairs.” 

“I have a perfectly fine bed right down the hall, no stairs needed,” Susan responded smugly. 

“Does anyone else find it a little bit funny that the so-called ‘hardworking’ lot is put off by a single flight of stairs?” Neville teasingly asked. “Even the snakes have to walk some stairs to get to their pit in the evening.” 

“Ah, but that’s going down,” Blaise returned, grinning. 

“Something you’re very experienced at,” Luna supplied. She waited a beat, seeming to savor the stunned silence of the others and they processed her statement. 

“I trust that’s not a complaint,” the Italian drawled, shooting her a smoky look. 

“Of course not.” And then she added, “Of course, ravens prefer to be on top, in almost all endeavors.” 

“How fortunate for me, then,” he purred, offering her a hand and pulling her into his lap. He nibbled at her neck before whispering in her ear. With a giggle, she was up off his lap again and darting out of the room. Still grinning, Blaise stood and stretched. “If you’ll excuse us,” he tossed out before following her. 

Neville buried his face against the sofa pillow, groaning. 

“At least they waited until Remus was gone?” Hermione offered in joined commiseration. 

“Come on,” Susan slurred, tugging at Hannah’s hand. “If you can make it to my room, you can sleep with me tonight and then brave the stairs tomorrow.” 

“Oh, that does sound infinitely better than trying to crawl up those stairs tonight,” Hannah murmured, dragging herself to her feet. 

Watching the two girls go, the three remaining stayed where they for several long minutes more… until finally Neville shifted. 

“I should probably go find a bed or else I’m going to fall asleep right here,” he murmured, stifling a yawn. 

“The master suite is one floor up,” Hermione put in. “Door at the end of the hall.” 

Neville nodded. “All the rest of the rooms should be free then, right? Well, except for wherever Professor Lupin sleeps, I guess.” 

Hermione blinked, reaching out to clasp his hand as he passed, a frown pulling at her face. “No, I meant… I mean, that is to say, if you wanted to sleep somewhere else,” she stressed, “You could, of course, but… our room is right upstairs. I don’t know if Blaise and Luna went there already, or they might have popped into the first room, but…” 

“I just thought,” Neville hesitated, looking back over to where Harry was sitting, watching them. He’d been pretty quiet most the night, and Neville wondered if he was still angry over the events from Diagon Alley. 

Hermione reached out her other hand towards him, and he took it, helping her up. When she swayed, his hands went to her waist, steadying her. She leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Let’s go to bed. Harry, you coming?” 

“I’ll be there in a bit,” he answered, meeting Neville’s wide-eyed surprised look with a nod. Neville swallowed, and then turned to help Hermione up to bed. Harry sat, staring at the fire and contemplating his Dark Lord problem for a while longer. 

 

 

~NOW~

 

\- Thursday, December 25, London - 

Despite the chill in the air, Hermione woke up toasty warm, cocooned between blankets and bodies. It wasn’t an uncomfortable way to wake, she thought mutedly. If she listened carefully, she could detect the different sleepers—she was somewhat familiar with listening to Lavendar and Pavarti after six years in the girls’ dorms, and more recently, the sounds of Hannah and Luna sleeping. Harry’s breathing was also a familiar pattern to her, and she thinks she could be able to pick out Ron’s snores as well, if the redhead were here. The two whose sleeping breaths she was most unfamiliar with, then, had to be Neville’s and Blaise’s. Which made sense, her waking mind pointed out.

Although Luna and Blaise had ducked into the first bedroom last night, it was evident that at some point, the two had crawled into the master bed with her and Neville. Probably when Harry came up to bed. Did Harry also collect Hannah, she wondered, because she was as certain as she could be with everyone else sleeping and her eyes still shut that the other girl was also here now. Yes, there were definitely five sleep-breathing patterns around her. 

That was good. That was… calming. Some piece of her was… content. Dare she say maybe a little happy even? This was her family. Her new family. Her future family. No, it wasn’t conventional, but really, neither was being a witch. Or, at least, it wasn’t in the muggle world. She couldn’t live the rest of her life under the conventions and expectations of her early childhood. The rules of life had changed—everything had changed when she’d turned eleven and received a visit from Professor McGonagall. 

The rules had changed again, this year when Harry turned seventeen, although they didn’t know it, either of them, until much later. She thought she was prepared for what the wizarding world would throw at her, but each and every year, she kept learning more and more things about this world she now belonged to—things that scared her, angered her, things that kept changing the rules she thought she was playing by. 

But no matter how frustrated or angry she got… if the alternative was giving up Harry, giving up having him in her life, with all the messy and crazy things that came with him… No. No, she wouldn’t give that up. She wouldn’t give him up. 

Her first friend. 

Her best friend. 

Her first lover. 

A body pressed up behind hers, a snuffling face rooting against her shoulder and a sleepy kiss pressed in the soft cotton of her night shirt. “Thinking too hard, H’mione. Go back to sleep,” Neville mumbled, nuzzling some more before settling back to sleep. 

Harry was her first lover, but not her last. 

She wasn’t in love with them, though, she thought a little sadly. Weren’t you supposed to be in love with your lovers? Was it just enough to care very much for them? She did love them, she thought as she settled back into the strong warmth of Neville behind her. His arm actually made a decent rest for her neck. At least to some extent she loved them all. It was a little strange—caring for so many people. For so long it had really been just her parents that she cared much for. And then it was Harry and Ron. Not that she didn’t care about other people. She wasn’t… uncaring. She didn’t think. And there were extensions to that caring—the rest of the Weasley family, Sirius and Remus, their housemates and classmates… 

But this level of caring…. The knowledge that if something bad happened to one of the people in this bed with her she wouldn’t just be sad or upset because of their loss… No, it would be far worse than that. 

If something had happened to Harry or Neville last night… 

They had been all alone in that alley last night against a group of death eaters, and it didn’t matter if there had actually been other people in that alley with them, because it was Harry and it was Neville and they were hers and she hadn’t been there to protect them and something could have happened to them. Something could have hurt them or taken them away from her. Taken them away permanently. 

There was rustling amongst the bed as bodies shifted awake. 

“Hermione, wake up.”

“What’s going on?” There was more rustling. 

“She’s burning up, shit!” 

“Wait, literally? No, don’t touch her!” 

“Hermione? You awake? Can you hear me?” 

Hermione blinked, attempting to focus on the face in front of her. Harry’s. Her Harry. Her brilliant, noble, wonderful, caring Harry. She sucked in a gulp of chilled air—it felt iced against her throat—and her eyes began to water. Someone wanted to actively hurt her Harry. Not just hurt him, kill him. Take him away from her forever. Her shoulders shook, her breath labored. 

“Hermione?” he asked—his voice so earnest and sweet and sincere. He was too good. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” 

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t form the words, even if she knew what she’d wanted to say—her nose was blocked up, her throat choked. A glimpse of silver-white caught her attention, and she glanced behind Harry to see Luna sitting up to look over his shoulder. Looking back at her steadily. 

Luna, seemingly the flightiest of them all. Was it possible she was really the most stable? 

“It’s all right, Hermione,” the younger girl spoke so serenely, always so calm. How could she stand to be so calm? Didn’t she understand that they’d almost lost both Harry and Neville last night? Luna reached out, over Harry’s shoulder, and brushed her fingers down along Hermione’s wet cheek. 

It wasn’t all right. It couldn’t be all right. There was someone out there who wanted Harry dead. Who would happily kill all of them, just because they were Harry’s friends. Maybe they’d even hurt them—all of them—if it was figured out that they were all so much more than just Harry’s friends. What would Voldemort’s forces do to any of them if they learned about the pard? What would they do to Hannah or Neville or Luna or Blaise if they learned they were all Harry’s lovers, not just his friend? How badly would they hurt and torture them before simply killing them all? Would they even be allowed the mercy of death? 

Harry thought she didn’t know about his nightmares… his visions. His little late-night chats with Neville. All throughout last year… even this year… although it was harder to track this year now that Harry had easy access to a balcony in their rooms. Last year she’s simply put an alert charm on his bed that would inform her when he was having a particular bad dream and another to let her know if and when he left his dorm or the common room. At first, she thought she would follow him up to the astronomy tower—just to make sure he was okay. She still wanted to honor his privacy at least somewhat. If he had wanted her to know, he would have told her. But he didn’t. He told Neville instead. And she had been so grateful to Neville. Neville, who was such a good and sincere friend. It had been the third time it happened that she realized Neville had set an alert to Harry’s bed so that he would wake up when Harry left the dorm room and entered the astronomy tower. So that he could be there for the other boy. She had loved him a little bit more because of it. 

She loved him. Loved them both. And someone had tried to hurt them last night. 

“It’s all right, Hermione,” Luna repeated, half crawling half-sliding over Harry. She leaned forward and kissed her tear-damp face. 

“They could have been killed,” she managed to get out, although it was horribly mumbled and nasally. 

Amazingly enough, Luna must have understood what she’d said because she pressed her forehead to the other girl’s, still cupping her cheeks in her ice-cold hands. “Yes, they could have. But they weren’t. They’re both safely home, with us. They’re right here and they’re safe and unhurt.” 

“For now.” 

“For now,” Luna agreed. 

“We should have been there. I should have been there.” 

“Then we all would have been in danger,” Luna pointed out calmly. “Would that have really been any better?”

“We could have fought, could have protected them.” 

“And if you were hurt?” the blonde countered. “Or Hannah, or myself, or any of the boys? Do you think they would have been able to focus on keeping themselves safe if we had been there?” Luna petted Hermione’s sleep-tousled curls. “Settle your fears, Hermione. Calm yourself. Harry and Neville are safe and home, and right now they’re worried about you. We’re worried about you.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you really?” 

“I’m fine,” Hermione insisted, sniffling. 

“Then calm yourself,” Luna commanded. “Calm your magic. You’re practically feverish. If you get any hotter, you’ll set this nice bed on fire and ruin it before we’ve even had a chance to properly test it out.” 

Hermione nearly snorted and choked on excessive mucus. “Is sex all you ever think about?” she asked, even though she knew it wasn’t. 

“Of course,” the blonde answered chipperly. “Why, just last night, Blaise and I were enjoying some rather engaging sex before Harry ordered us all to bed.” 

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, but it wasn’t with any feverous powers. Luna tilted forward again, this time pressing cool lips against Hermione’s cheeks. “That’s it. Just breathe. Calm yourself. Breathe. Nice and easy now.” 

She noticed just how chilled the room’s air was and shivered. 

“Did someone open a window in here?” she asked, looking around. 

“You might not realize it,” Hannah said, move to latch said open window back up, “But it was about baking in here a few moments ago. I thought for sure you were going to light the bed on fire!” 

“I was not—” Hermione began protesting, but then caught sight of Blaise waving his wand over Neville’s arm…and the angry red smear of a burn on it. “Oh, my god, did I do that?” she asked, horrified. 

“It’s fine,” Neville huffed. 

“Not as good as burn paste,” Blaise murmured as he conjured a small cloth and dampened it with an augamenti charm. 

“It’s not that bad,” Neville insisted. 

“Neville, I’m so sorry!” Hermione breathed, a fresh wave of tears stinging her eyes. Here she was, upset that he might have gotten hurt, and she’s the one who up and hurt him!

“Hermione, it’s fine,” he repeated, turning back to her and searching her face closely. “Are you all right?” 

“How can you ask that?” she demanded. “You’re the one who got hurt!” 

“And you’re the one that was upset,” he returned. “What happened?” 

“I just…I don’t know,” she dithered. “I just kept thinking of how you and Harry could have been hurt last night,” she rambled, eyes darting back to Harry who was still behind Luna watching her. “You could have been hurt and we weren’t there to help you, and I just… I don’t know.” 

“Hormones,” Hannah said determinedly. 

“What?” Hermione returned, a bit flabbergasted. 

“You’re one of the most collected persons I know,” Hannah replied. “I mean, with all the crazy shit you and Harry have gotten into over the years, I figure you would have blown a gasket way before now if you were inclined towards that sort of overblown melodramatics, which means you aren’t. So, if you take into account the biggest changes between all those times and now, the logical cause of this little minor meltdown of yours is hormones. Plain and simple.” 

Hermione blinked, trying to process what the other girl said. “Minor melt-down,” she finally settled on. “A minor melt-down shouldn’t result in someone getting hurt.” 

“I’m frankly grateful it wasn’t worse,” Blaise put in. “It really is a nice bed. It would have been a shame for it to have burned down. And that was quite a real possibility with the way you were being to smolder.” 

“I was not smoldering!” Hermione protested. 

“I think you actually managed to singe and few strands of hair,” Harry teased, lips twitching, but there was a look of sincere worry in his eyes that told her just how serious he was… just how close to the truth he was being. She touched her hair reflectively and his smile turned just a little bit more genuine. 

“You’re cooler to the touch now,” Luna put in. “That’s good.” 

Hermione flustered, sorely upset still that she’d lost her composure like that and because of it, she’d hurt Neville. 

“You know,” Blaise began, crawling closer to her on the bed. “You’re going to have to stop repressing your magic eventually. It’s not healthy and it can have very bad repercussions.” 

“I don’t...” 

“Yes, you do. I know for a fact you’ve already researched fire elementals before we left school,” Blaise told her bluntly. “And I know exactly what you found. My Uncle was dating an elemental three years ago, and so I looked up everything I could find about them myself.” 

“I don’t understand,” Harry spoke up. “What repercussions? What’s not healthy?” 

“An elemental’s powers ebb and flow for the first five years of their emergence, which can occur anyway up to a decade after puberty. They have that long to master their element or else be consumed by it. In the meantime, if it remains unharnessed and trained, all sorts of calamities will occur because of different outbursts—like a bed catching fire. Or the entire house burning down around us.” 

“Pregnancy hormones won’t help it any,” Hannah sighed, climbing back onto the bed, now shivering herself. “Everyone knows a witch’s magic goes a little wonky while they’re carrying, which will make Hermione’s control over her fire just that much harder to master.” 

“Wait, what?” Hermione sputtered. “What do you mean my magic’s going to go a little wonky?” 

“Well, it’s not like you’ll need to worry about it right away,” Hannah continued. “I mean, it doesn’t really start up until the fifth or sixth month, right? But, I mean, the baby sort of… borrows from the mother as it started to develop its own magical core. At least, that’s what I’ve heard to explain it.” 

She looked to the others for confirmation, but they looked back at her blankly. “I never researched what effects pregnancy had on magic,” Luna told her, and the boys looks just as clearly uninformed. What reason would they have had to look into such a topic, young as they all were, after all. 

“But, it’s like I said,” Hannah continued, turning back to Hermione. “We’ve got time to figure it all out. I mean, at least a year, right?” 

“Hannah,” Harry spoke tentatively when it appeared Hermione wasn’t. “The stasis spell Madame Pomfrey used didn’t work on Hermione.” 

“What?” 

“She had to cast it again, when she was here, fixing me up. But, there’s a chance… I mean, I was going to ask you to go with Hermione and have yours checked too when we got back to Hogwarts, but… there’s a chance that the stasis spell won’t work for Hermione again. In which case, Madame Pomphrey has said she won’t attempt to cast it again, which means…” 

“We’ll be mommies and daddies before the end of the summer,” Luna supplied when Harry trailed off. 

“Blimey,” Neville spoke into the silence. “No wonder why you were so insistent on getting those family accounts set up now and finding us a permanent home before summer.” 

Harry shrugged. “Mostly, I just want to make sure you all are taken care of, no matter what happens.” 

“Don’t say that,” Hermione snapped. 

Harry shrugged again. “It’s only the truth.” 

“It’ll be a challenge to hide the head girl being pregnant from the entire school,” Blaise pointed out. “Not that other students haven’t been so afflicted before, but… the head girl? And being as she’s widely known as your girlfriend, Harry, that’ll bring a whole new wave of attention on her. It’ll be harder to conceal her condition.” 

“Are we sure concealing it is the best idea,” Neville asked worriedly. “I mean, yes, there are a lot of people who want to hurt us, you,” he added looking directly at Harry, “but there’s also a lot of people who want to help, and really, more support wouldn’t be a bad thing.” 

“I would really rather prefer not to be known at the head girl who got pregnant during her tenure, thank you,” Hermione supplied. 

“We’ll just have to be extra careful,” Luna told them. “There’s no reason we’d have to lie to anyone or announce it to anyone. I’m mostly sure we could probably get through most of the year without anyone the wiser. Although you’ll have to tell the professors. There’s just some lessons you shouldn’t participate in and since your magic might go wonky, you’ll need others there to help.”

Hermione pursed her lips, obviously not exactly thrilled at the idea of telling her professors or of missing out on lessons. 

“We’ll do what we must to keep you safe,” Harry insisted. “Both of you,” he added, eyes darted down to her tummy before quickly looking back up, lips twitching again.

“Look at you,” Hermione huffed, amused. “You’re all happy that I’m pregnant.” 

Harry ducked his head bashfully as all the others turned to watch him. “Well, yeah,” he admitted. “A bit? I mean, you’re giving me a family. You and Hannah,” he added, eyes darting to the other girl. “I mean, yeah, we’re building a family already, with the pard, but… a family. With a mum and a dad and a baby… and sure, yeah, maybe we aren’t the traditional family—there’s more mums and dads, but… it’s real. And it’s… pretty damn amazing, isn’t it? You’re like, growing this whole other life inside of you, and it’s a little bit of me and a little bit of you all mixed together into something new, and… and that’s pretty damn amazing, Hermione.”

He scooted closer, so he could brush his lips against hers, watching her closely as he whispered, “And my cat thinks it’s pretty damn hot. Every time I think about you, being pregnant with our kit…” His voice had deepened to a near purring-growl. “I want to do lots and lots of naughty, sexy things to you. With you.” 

“Oh, yes!” Hannah cheered. “Please tell me we’re going to get to have Christmas Morning sex, because I gotta tell you, I’m not sure if even presents are worth waking up this early without a good, rousing sexy-time. 

The others laughed, even Hermione and Harry. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you,” Hermione teased. “By all means, carry on your morning celebrations. Please don’t let me stop you.” 

“Goodie!” Hannah cried, reaching out to snatch Blaise and pull the willing teen closer. A few moments later, Luna hummed and then moved to join them. 

“How are you feeling now?” Neville asked, shifting back beside Hermione, on the other side from Harry. 

“I should be asking you that,” Hermione huffed, reaching out to pet the burn mark on his upper arm. “I’m so sorry, Neville.” 

“It’s not like you set out intentionally to burn me,” he countered. “I just want to know that whatever upset you, you’re okay now. I don’t ever want to see you hurting or upset, Hermione,” he added, reaching up to brush her curls back from her face. 

Neville, sweet, wonderful, kind, caring Neville. Neville who shyly helped her up the stairs last night and didn’t make a big production as they both changed into the night clothes before slipping into the very large bed. Neville, who asked her if it was okay, as he settled her against him as they lied down together and settled in to sleep. Neville who, so softly she wasn’t sure if she’d just dreamed it, had kissed her hair and sighed so contentedly—as if there was no other place on Earth he’d rather be than right there, lying beside her. 

“I don’t ever want to see you hurt,” she told him. “That would hurt me greatly, to know you were hurt, so please promise me to keep yourself safe?” 

“I will do my best,” he promised. 

“Better than your best,” she demanded. “I care too much for you to ever see you hurt.” 

He smiled brilliantly at her—not quite beaming, but it was pretty darn close. “Whatever you command of me, Hermione. I will do my best, for you.” He leaned forward to seal his promise with a kiss to her cheek. 

At the last moment, she moved, meeting his lips with her own. She hadn’t been sure if she would do it, but now it was done. Neville stiffened. Tentatively, she dared to open her lips against his. A heartbeat. A lifetime. And then he was reciprocating. Lips dancing, pressing, brushing, pulling away, again, and again, and again. 

She wasn’t sure who really moved first, but next thing she was aware, they were both lying back on the bed, holding onto each other loosely, lips still pressing and teasing against each other’s. A thick thigh pressed against Hermione’s leg, and before she even registered moving she had straddled it, hips languidly rocking against the solid muscled limb. Hands wandered, and she didn’t even attempt to restrain their exploration. The breadth of Neville’s shoulders, the swell of his arms, the tapering dip to his lower back, the hard curve of his arse… 

She might have pulled, he might have pressed, but either way the result was the same---Hermione on her back, arms and legs wrapped around Neville, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as his hips pressed and circled against her pelvis. She moaned—or maybe he did. Maybe they both did. 

Someone was pleading. The bed beneath them swayed. There was the tell-tale slapping of sweaty flesh against flesh and harsh panting. But it was a distant sensory input. Not important to them in the here and now. 

A calloused hand slid up her side, dragging her night shirt with it until it reached the curve of her breast. 

“I want to touch you,” Neville panted in-between kisses, licking at her lips. 

“Yessssss,” she hissed, arching against him. His large, warm hand slid over the mound of her breast, as if perfectly made for each other. 

Chapped lips caught on her own as Neville’s thick tongue dipped deeper into her mouth, sweeping. His rough-skinned hand cupped the swell of her breast, squeezing with gentle strength, as the pad of his thumb found her nipple and began to play with it. She arched and cried out beneath him, offering tiny little sounds of pleasure and encouragement. 

“Gods, Hermione,” Neville panted against her lips. “You are so beautiful and amazing and wonderful and—” 

She cut him off with another kiss. He fell eagerly into her—pelvis continuing to rock up into hers as her thighs wrapped around his hips, squeezing, cradling him perfectly against her flush and ripe body. He could wish that there were less clothing between them, that he was cradled inside her body and not just against it, but this was already more than he ever thought he would experience with this beautiful being. 

Neville brought his other hand up, sliding her night shirt up under her arms so he could bare her breasts properly. With one last peck to her soft lips, he darted down to pepper her valley with little kisses, cradling his face between the soft swell of her beautiful breasts. He opened his mouth, sucking the flesh, laving his tongue over the sweet skin. And then he fastened his lips around one hard nipple and suckled. 

Hermione released another little sound of pleasure—they were like candy to his ears. Her fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders and arms, where she continued to hold on to him. His hips arched up, pressing closer, smashing their pelvises together so hard he almost whimpered with the pressure against his restrained cock. 

There was a warmth against his back as he was mounted—familiar and oh-so-welcome despite his distraction with Hermione. He would never turn Harry away. Probably not any of his mates, really, but definitely never Harry. At first, he feared Harry was there to stop him, to take his place, but then he felt the pressure at his thighs, encouraging his legs to spread wider, to make space for the new body leaning over him. Hermione made a protesting sound as her own legs were spread just a little bit further, but the scrape of teeth against her nipple was enough to distract her. 

Moist lips pressed against his shoulder, before opening and biting down into the fleshy meat. Neville cried out, bucking wildly. Just as suddenly, a hot tongue was there, laving at the hurt. A rumbling purr reverberated along his back. “I want to be inside you,” Harry announced, “as you move inside Hermione.” 

Neville shivered, body nearly liquifying at the thought—him, caught between these two amazing and beautiful people. 

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Harry continued to purr. “Fucking yourself between us? Filling your greedy hole with my cock before stuffing yourself deep inside Hermione’s heat. She gets so wet, Neville, it’s like burying your dick in lava.” 

Neville whimpered—the small rational piece of his mind still left tried to argue that lava and any piece of his body part was just not a good idea. But it was a very, very small piece. The rest of his mind was too caught up on the very real possibility that he was about to have sex with Hermione and Harry was going to be there, too, fucking him, and how fucking perfect could his life possibly get? 

Magic tingled across his skin and the pajamas he’d worn to bed last night disappeared completely. He moaned appreciatively as now Hermione’s hands touched his skin, as Harry’s skin pressed against his, no boundaries. 

“Look at him, Hermione,” he heard Harry speak over his shoulder. “He’s so eager to please. But he won’t take without permission. He’ll beg and plead, but he won’t do anything unless you say he can. You have to tell him it’s okay, Hermione. Do you want him to make love to you?”

Neville couldn’t help the little eager, needy whimper that escaped him at that. Gods, yes, he wanted to! He wanted to worship this body under him properly. He wanted so badly to kiss her everywhere, caress everywhere, to attempt to satisfy her every need. He would whole-heartedly offer himself up as sacrifice to her fire if it meant pleasing her. He—

“Yes,” Hermione choked. 

“Yes what?” Harry pressed. 

“Damn it, Harry Potter, just what is it you want from me?” she demanded angrily, her fingers biting further into the meat of Neville’s arms and back. 

“I want to hear you say it,” Harry purred. “I want to hear you say that you want to feel Neville inside you, that you want him to make love to you, to fill you up. I want to hear you say it, because frankly, I think it’ll be really hot,” he confessed. “But Neville needs to hear you say it so he knows it’s really okay.” 

Hermione was blushing, trying to look at his face from where he was currently resting pillowed against one of her soft breasts, still occasionally nuzzling. Soft hands moved from his back up to his neck and cheeks, pulling him up her body just that little bit needed for their lips to meet. And then Hermione brushed her lips over his cheek and against his ear. 

“Yes, Neville, I’m okay with you making love to me,” she whispered, just a hint of shyness in her voice warming his insides to a melted goo. 

He gave a little surge, finding her mouth again and kissing her desperately. “I want to be inside you,” he managed between desperate kisses. “Want to make you feel so good.” 

“Auh, Hermione,” Harry pouted. “You cheated.” 

But then there was another wash of magic. Hermione’s clothes disappeared and suddenly she was all hot and naked in his arms, her bare sex rubbing against his hard penis, and the heat he could feel before radiating out from her core was even more powerful now as the musky scent of her sex was released and her juices began coating his shaft from where it was pressed up against her. But even more distracting was the tingle of magic that proceeded slick oozing out of his own entrance and a hard dick forcing him open, smoothly, swiftly, with no hesitancy. 

Neville released a cry, back bowing as his hips were held in a forceful grip preventing any possible escape. He slumped against Hermione, panting and practically whining as his body quickly adjusted to the feel of being penetrated again after several days. He loved it—he really did. The feeling of being so full, the pull of a cock moving inside of him, forcing him open and then cumming inside of him… He honestly liked it just a little better than being with one of the girls. But that didn’t negate that he usually had a little bit more warning to prepare himself other than the tingle of a cleaning spell and the slick of a lubrication charm being cast. 

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, and Neville almost laughed just a little bit. “Did you just—but I was going to—he and I—” 

“Oh, you still are,” Harry promised, and Neville twitched, clenching down reflexively, earning a little grunt from him. “Neville’s really excited for the chance. Really excited. Keeps squeezing my cock so good. Just like you do, sometimes, when you’re close to cumming. You wanna cum, right Hermione? Wanna feel Neville’s cock as he opens you up as he makes love to you?” 

“Harry!” 

“Oh, he likes the idea, Hermione,” Harry groaned. 

A hand reached between his pelvis and Hermione’s, fumbling a bit, and then Hermione’s eyes were fluttering and she held her breath. 

“So wet, Hermione,” Harry purred. “You must really like the idea, too. Have you felt how big he is, Hermione? He’ll fill you up so good.” 

And then Harry grabbed one of Hermione’s hands off his shoulder and dragged it down to their crotches where his other hand was busy stroking her. Harry pressed Hermione’s hand around Neville’s cock and he thought he might just lose it then and there. 

“Feel that, Hermione? All of that is going inside of you.” She gasped, but whether it was because of his words or something Harry did with his fingers, Neville wasn’t sure. “Feel how big his head is. Wanna help me line it up?” 

Fingers danced over his cock head and Neville groaned, turning back to bury his face into the swell of Hermione’s chest. He opened his mouth and sucked as soft fingers slid over him, as more assured hands manhandled his dick until he was pressed right up against the core heat of Hermione’s sex. This was really happening, he thought, slightly desperately. And then he felt Harry withdrawing from him, pulling away. He moved to try and stop the retreat, but a second later, he was forcibly filled once again. 

And this time, the force of the thrust sent him plowing into the cushioned heat of Hermione. 

All three of them sounded a moan of appreciation, twitching and shivering. Harry provided another smaller thrust, as if to ensure all three of them were perfectly nestled against one another. And then he withdrew again, Neville made to protest again, but this time, Harry didn’t press them all together again. He leaned over Neville’s shoulders, staring directly into Hermione’s eyes as he whispered against the shell of Neville’s ear. 

“Go ahead, Neville.” 

*** 

It was mid-morning by the time everyone trundled down into the drawing room and dropped into various available chairs or sofas. Within minutes, however, their sleepiness had vanished under the diligent care of Winky, who kept them well supplied with tea, cider, or hot chocolate and various mincemeats, crumpets, sausage rolls, and cinnamon rolls.

The room quickly became a riotous scene filled with exclamations, laughter, hugs, and kisses--not to mention flying ribbons and wrapping paper—as presents were exchanged and opened. 

Harry was already well satisfied with his pocket watch from last night and the simple fact that he was with his family, but the two scrapbooks Hermione, Hanna, and Luna presented to him had to be about one of the best gifts he’d ever received. The girls explained how they’d gone to Colin Creevey to get a majority of the photos, at least the ones of Harry—it was kind of creepy the boy crush the kid had—and how they’d spent any free time over the last month and a half putting it together. The first was a showcase of Harry’s Hogwarts years (first year somewhat sparsely represented). At some point the girls must have enlisted others, because there were various written accounts of things he barely remembered happening or didn’t remember at all until he read someone else’s account of it. He was rather surprised and heartened that he’d had so much of an impact on others without even realizing it. 

The second scrapbook was unfinished. In fact, only the first several pages had anything on them at all—a page biography for each member of the pard followed by some candid photos of them in various states. There was one picture of Luna, Hannah, and Neville cuddled up sleeping on the sofa in the Head’s common room. Another of Hermione bent over some books—in the library of all places. Another of Harry and some other students at the Fall Festival. When he got to the many blank pages, he looked up at the girls questioningly. 

“Those are for the memories we have yet to make,” Hermione answered. 

“Yeah, we didn’t get a chance to put our Italy trip in, yet,” Hannah added. “But give us some more time, and we’ll get it done. Promise.” 

“This is a record of your past,” Luna added, tapping the first book. “And this, is a record of your future and our family.” 

Harry beamed at them, looking so punch-happy that he might have easily been accused of drinking all the vintage wine in the very nice collection Blaise had gifted him. Two bottles of which had already been selected to bring for dinner tonight. 

Blaise insisted on making them all a cappuccino on the new machine Harry had gifted him, although he was quite a bit stingier on sharing any of the coffee-flavored bonbons Hannah had given him. 

The blonde Hufflepuff had experienced a fit of laughter when she opened her own gift of chocolate bonbons from the Italian boy. The book on healing tucked under the confectionary box was also well received. Perhaps more so than the colorful jewelry set Neville gave her. She did, however, immediately donned the brightly knitted rainbow scarf Luna handed her and declared she’d have to borrow the yarn so she could make herself a pair of mittens to match! 

Hermione had also tossed on the art print scarf Hannah had purchased from one of their many museum trips—and for a moment, all the teens had enjoyed a moment of mockery, calling the head girl Professor Trelawney and asking her to make a prediction. At least the moment of hilarity had lasted until Remus spoke up and reminded them it wasn’t nice to make fun of a teacher. Even Blaise had looked properly chastised at that. 

Neville exclaimed over Luna’s craftiness and artistic nature as he showed off the hand-painted flower pots he had received… and then had to laugh when he went on to open the Italian starter seed set from Hermione and the hori hori garden knife and samples collection kit from Harry. 

“Are you all trying to tell me something?” he asked, grinning widely. 

“Yes!” Hannah laughed with him as she tossed over her gift—a heavy duty dirt removing soap set. 

Luna was also entranced by her presents from the others. She almost got sidetracked from opening the others after discovering the sketch box with all the various wonderful supplies tucked neatly away inside it. She had given Hermione a loud kiss on the lips before settling with her new supplies and had to be reminded that she had other gifts to open. The unusual jewelry Neville gifted her was put on immediately, although the chocolate was tucked away safely for later. And it was only Professor Lupin’s request that she not try them on immediately that prevented her from replacing her house robe with one of the sexy pieces of lingerie Blaise had given her. 

She had smiled at Remus, though, and called out to Blaise. “You should probably hold off on opening my present further. I fear the good professor might become uncomfortable.” 

Blaise, who had just finished unwrapping the beautiful dark wooden chest, paused before actually opening the chest up—it wasn’t overly large, but it wasn’t necessarily small either. And there was definitely something inside. Curiosity ate at his innards. Surely, just one peek. One peek couldn’t…

He moaned, catching only the briefest of glances before shutting the lid firmly. It gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘toy chest’. Blaise looked over to Luna… who smile so beautifully and deceptively innocently back at him. 

“Il mio bel fiore di luna sicuramente mi porterà alla follia.” 

He had moved on to opening Neville’s gift – a set of massage oils that he knew would come in handy, in more ways than one—when Hermione got to his gift. The jewelry box had once belonged to his great-grandmother. Until their visit to his grandparents’ yesterday, he hadn’t been sure what he would gift their beautiful queen. A book voucher seemed so impersonally, although he did know her passion was books. He didn’t know which books she had already ready or which she already owned or wanted to own to attempt to procure them for her. Although she was passionate, she preferred not to be sensual, and she was not a huge fan of sweets and confectionaries, so things like lingerie and chocolates were out. 

There was a beautiful aubergine dress they had seen in the window of one of the many shops they had passed that he thought would look stunning on her, but they hadn’t stopped and he hadn’t had the chance to duck away and pick it up. He did have a book of Italian Wizarding history he’d managed to procure, but it seemed so bland a gift. It would have done in a pinch, he supposed. 

Thankfully, his grandmama had saved him. 

At one point towards the end of their visit, she had pulled her grandson into the bedroom on the guise of his retrieving something off a high shelf for her. The rouse was laughable due to the fact several of his uncles were actually taller than him, but he went willingly, indulgently. He was glad he had. 

The jewelry box wasn’t anything fancy—a wooded trinket box, really, with shapes and figures carved into the sides. It was smooth with age, the wood buttery soft. It had belonged to his grandmother’s mother, given to her by her then fiancée as a courting gift back in the 1800’s. It was something small, personal, and held history within its very grains. 

It was perfect. And apparently Hermione thought so, too, because she gasped as she unwrapped the simple trinket box, capturing Blaise’s attention away from the various massage oils in the kit Neville had gifted him to see Hermione delicately tracing one of the etchings with one finger. 

“It belonged to my great-grandmother,” he explained. “My grandmother’s mother. My great-grandfather carved it for her especially and gave it to her as a courting gift.” 

“It’s lovely, Blaise,” Hermione breathed. “And far too precious to give away.” 

“Ah, but I’m not giving it away,” he corrected. “I’m gifting it to you. And if you so choose, you may one day decide to gift it to one of your children, or one of your grandchildren.”

Hermione hesitated again, and he felt warmth, knowing she really liked it. “You should really keep this, Blaise, it’s a family heirloom.” 

“And you are my family now,” he chided her. 

She smiled. “Thank you. It’s really lovely.” 

“I’m glad you like it. A much better gift than a book, no?” 

“Book?” 

 

**** 

 

Overall, it was a most enjoyable morning, and by the time they all gathered around to head over to Whitehorse they were still all in high spirits. They piled through the floo and arrived in the sedate townhome of Andromeda and Edward Tonks with great bustle and noise. 

“Well, well, well. Isn’t this a surprise,” a nasally voice drawl from nearby. 

As one, the pard turned to stare at the blond young man standing in the doorway, leaning up against the frame, arms crossed, staring mulishly back at them. 

“Draco,” Harry greeted immediately, stepping forward. “I wasn’t sure if you would come.” 

“Like my aunt would have given me a choice,” the other boy scoffed. “Family duty and reconnecting with my noble heritage.” His eyes roved over their ensemble. “When Aunt Andromeda mentioned you’d be bringing guests, I assumed she referred to… your two sidekicks. Maybe a pack of weasels.” 

“You know what they say about assuming,” Blaise purred, stepping up closer to Hermione’s side and leveling his housemate with a warning look. “You have been less than your usually form of observant this year.” 

“Enough to know you spend more nights out of the dorms than in them,” Draco retorted, angry at being reminded of his own fallacies. “Still, Blaise, I thought you had better taste.” 

“I have found a wealth of hidden delights to appease even the most ravenous beast for several centuries,” he purred, lifting Hermione’s hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. 

Draco’s eyes widened—just enough to be noticed by those who were looking, and most all of them were looking as they shifted together as one. All save Susan, who remained standing to the side. Grey eyes flew back to Harry, narrowing as they scanned him up and down. The gears in his head turning, shifting pieces of the puzzle together until… 

“You came into your inheritance this past summer,” Draco stated. 

It wasn’t a question. Nevertheless, Harry nodded. 

“More than just your family monies and lordships,” Draco continued. 

Again, Harry nodded. 

“Interesting.” Grey eyes flitted over the ensembles again. “Potter’s a creature. How apropos.” He seemed to take a fortifying breath. “A pack creature, is it? Not from the Blacks—a keres would jealously guard their mate,” he mused aloud. 

Harry shot a questioning look towards the others. 

“The Black Family has been known to produce some dark veela – keres – from time to time,” Luna supplied. 

“Some thought Siruis was one,” Neville supplied, an apologetic look for bringing up Harry’s godfather. “But if he was, he never formally presented before he was locked away.” 

“And not an incubus,” Draco continued, running through the list of known creatures attributed to each of Harry’s known family ancestries. 

Blaise’s lips twitched. “No,” he agreed. “Incubi do not do well within close quarters for longer than short periods of time.” 

“You don’t strike me as very fae,” Draco accused, having drawn to the end of his mental list. 

“He’s fae enough,” Luna teased, silvery blue eyes sparkling with inner mischief. Draco’s gaze narrowed angrily. 

“Let’s leave it at yes, Harry received a creature inheritance this summer, and as is par for course, it was unusually, shall we?” Hermione interjected. 

“Where would the fun be in that?” Draco drawled. 

“Mayhap not fun,” a stern voice spoke up from behind the boy, causing him (and Harry) to straighten to attention immediately. “But certainly only appropriate for a scion of the House of Black towards his head of house. Step aside now, Draco. You’ve left our guests standing in the entry hall long enough. They should have been invited into the parlor minutes ago. The tea is growing cold.” 

A mature witch of indiscriminate age stepped past Draco and into the room proper. Her stance was tall and commanding, and she looked like she’d be more accustomed to wearing a military uniform than the deep navy holiday robes accented with gold that graced her lean figure. Her dark hair was swept up into a flattering pin-up, hiding away its length, but revealing the glint of gold dangling from her ears. Her dark grey eyes swept over the ensemble of children still standing in front of the floo space before settling on Harry. 

“Andromeda,” he greeted as soon as she was looking at him. “It’s good to see you looking so well. Happy Christmas,” he added, stepping forward to press a cursory kiss to her cheek. “I trust we’re not too early?” 

“Not at all,” she scoffed, returning his kiss. “Happy Christmas, Harry. And may I say, you look in fine health. Certainly better off than when I saw you last this summer.” 

“Three square meals from the Hogwarts’ kitchens each day will do that,” he teased. 

“Oh, but it can’t be all the work of the Hogwarts’ elves, surely,” she returned, eyes sliding back over her other guests. “Please introduce me to—I believe Remus said you prefer the term ‘pard’?” 

Harry beamed at her, stepping forward to present his little family. “You may recall from previous discussions, but I’m pleased to finally introduce you to my best friend, Hermione Granger. She’s also head girl this year.” 

“Convenient, that,” Andromeda teased. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Granger.” 

“The pleasure is entirely mine,” Hermione responded, stepping forward with a little curtsy. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Tonks. Harry’s spoken quite a bit of you.” 

“No doubt complaining of all the lessons on etiquette I forced him to endure, as boys are want to lament,” she mused before snapping out, “Don’t slouch, Draco. It’s slovenly.” 

“And this is Hannah Abbott and her very good friend Susan Bones who’s been staying with us,” Harry rushed to continue the introductions. “She’s kindly invited us to stay with her at her family estate for the remainder of Christmas hols.” 

“Both fine families,” Andromeda nodded approvingly. “I’m sorry for your loses.” 

The girls murmured their thanks while Harry pushed on to continue introductions. “Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.” 

“Lovegood? Relation to the Quibbler’s editor, yes? And Longbottom, you must be Augusta’s and Edmund’s grandson. Good people.” 

“And this is Blaise Zabini,” Harry concluded. 

“Hmm,” Andromeda hummed. “Muggleborn or not English?” she questioned. 

“A little of both, if it must be known,” Blaise responded coolly. “My father was muggleborn and Italian. My mother is also European.” 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Andromeda waved away his defensive stance. “My Ted is muggle-born. Brings good luck to the blood, I say. Look at my daughter—Nymphadora is the first metamorphmagus in the Black family in nearly a century. She’s fairly decently powerful, too,” she added proudly. “And not a hint of the Black Madness in her yet.” 

Her candidness startled many of her guests, which amused Andromeda as she turned to steer them all into the receiving parlor. Her home was not exceptionally large—nothing like the manor house she had grown up in, but it was a decent size for a townhome. It didn’t boast as many bedrooms as the Black Townhome, but her small family did not need a multitude of bedrooms. In the parlor, she encouraged everyone to take a seat and watched attentively who choose to sit where and with whom. There was a mixture of seating options—from overstuffed armchairs, more delicate armchairs, two mis-matched love seats, and a larger sofa. The room was eclectic—a collection of various pieces acquired not for their sense of décor for a cohesive whole but based entirely on their level of comfort offered. 

Draco, of course, chose one of the stiffer armchairs, purposefully setting himself apart from the collective—just as he had purposefully held himself back for the entirety of the holiday. Not that she blamed him. His mother was dead. And for all intents and purposes, his father was currently dead to him, as well. This was the first holiday he would spend without his mother or his father. It wasn’t easy—she knew from her own personal experiences from when she’d been cast from her family for choosing to follow her heart and not her family’s mandates. 

Ted was already in his chair by the fire, but he politely looked up and closed his book when company arrived. It had taken quite a bit of reinforcement to train that habit into her husband. Ever the Ravenclaw, she mused lovingly. 

The other children were much more relaxed than Draco, despite the new environments. They were quite comfortable with one another. Their cohesiveness and attention to the group was not just amusing but heartwarming to watch. Harry had led the way to the larger sofa, tugging Hermione down with him, and struck up an immediate conversation with Ted. Within moments, Hermione was leaning forward and interjecting. From the adjusted position her husband took, Andromeda knew that whatever the girl had said had immediately caught Ted’s interest. The Abbott and Bones girls took one of the love seats, the Longbottom boy crowding down on the end with them, arm slung casually over the blonde’s shoulders and playing idly with her hair as the two girls chatted. He didn’t seem to mind not being part of the conversation. In fact, it looked like he had quite the weight on his mind if the deep look of concentration on his face was any indication. She wondered if it had anything to do with his grandmother. Augusta, from what Andromeda remembered, was a stuck-up witch who believed she always knew best. She doubted fifty-plus years had changed the witch’s perspective.

The Italian boy settled into one of the cushier chairs—closer to Draco, but not necessarily apart from the rest of his group. In fact, the Lovegood girl settled herself right on his lap, despite there being plenty of other seats still available. She said something – to her seat companion or Draco, Andromeda wasn’t sure, but she watched carefully as Draco appeared to bristle up defensively. He was appallingly open for a Slytherin, she thought despairingly. Her sister had surely spoilt the boy, and apparently his father had been overly indulgent as well. She was frankly shocked he had survived the last six years in Slytherin house unmolested. Three weeks was simply not enough time to properly retrain the boy, but she would do her damnedest. After all, she had had only a little bit more time with Harry this summer to work with, and he was coming along swimmingly from the looks of it. 

The floo bell rung, and her daughter’s voice called out from the receiving room. “It’s just me!” followed by the sound of calamity and an oomphf. “I’m all right!” 

Andromeda’s eyes fell shut as she breathed deep and made a wish for serenity and peace for her daughter. Magic knew, grace would never be her strong suit. 

 

When the floo bell rang again, Tonks rushed up to answer it—tripping over the rug and stumbling out of the parlor. A few minutes later, there was a shout that had many of the occupants of the parlor looking at each other questioningly—should they get up to investigate. Ted reassured them all. “I’m sure it’s just Remus,” he told them, smiling. 

Suddenly, Harry remember the question the older werewolf had asked him, and he couldn’t prevent the bubble of excitement that fluttered up, eyes darting back to the door every few minutes, waiting for the couple to appear. When they did, it was in a flurry of action and excitement as Tonks burst through the door and launched herself at her mother, thrusting her hand out in front of her. 

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda began to scold. “What in the—” 

“Look!” the young woman commanded, bubbling. “He proposed!” 

In a woosh, Tonks suddenly found herself crowded and surrounded by all the females in the room as Hannah and Susan oohed and ahhed over the sparkly ring. Harry shared a bemused look with Ted. The sofa dipped under him and he turned and pulled Neville closer to his side. 

“You know,” Blaise drawled. “Those baubles you gave out this morning might not be satisfactory anymore,” he teased. 

“No,” Harry agreed. “I was thinking of proposing to Hermione before we go back to Hogwarts, but I’m not sure how that would all work if we’re all in a circle together…” 

“You’re forming a circle?” Ted asked excitedly. 

“Nothing definite,” Harry rushed to dissuade the man. “The girls seem to think so, but…” 

“You have your doubts,” the older man concluded, nodding. “Understandable. Especially if you’re at the epicenter of it all, and it seems like you are. Well, Remus,” he switched topics, standing up as the other man approached. “I suppose I should be congratulating you.” 

Harry had never really given too much consideration to the age difference between Remus and Tonks before, but watching his former professor interact with Tonks’s dad, he was startlingly reminded of it. Remus went to school with Harry’s dad and Sirius. Sirius was Andromeda’s cousin, she had been only a few years ahead. She and Mr. Tonks and Sirius and Remus would have all been at school together for at least a few years. And now here was Remus, proposing to their only child. 

He wondered how he would take it if someone like Justin Filch-Fletcher or maybe Dennis Creevy or Nigel came around when the baby Hermione or Hannah was carrying was older. How would he feel if it was him sitting in that chair as his child’s much older suitor came to call. 

The answer wasn’t a good one. 

There was pressure on is hand, dragging Harry free from the dark and murky thoughts and emotions he was experiencing at the thought of anyone getting friendly with his son or daughter. Harry looked up to Neville who was smiling softly, still trying to relax. 

“It’s good, yeah,” Neville said. “They’re finding happiness together. You already approved the match, so why are you so frowny-frown right now?” 

“Just thinking about what it’ll be like when a suitor comes around for one of our children,” he confessed. He thought he had spoken lowly, but evidently not low enough. 

“Already planning a horde of little Potters, are you?” Draco sneered, earning him several disapproving looks. 

“Don’t be jealous, Draco,” Blaise chastised casually. “It’s only natural to assume our children will have plenty of siblings. Even if we all successfully carry only one child, that’s already five children we will have the pleasure of rearing. I’ve told you before to pick a girl who is not too closely related to you-or better yet, no relation at all. Make sure you have the conversation with her first, but then breed like the stud stallion you are.” 

Draco’s cheeks pinkened with such blatant discussion of sexual matters in front of mixed company. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know most all purebloods are inter-related.” 

“And you know my response to that,” Blaise snuffed, indicating that he was clearly finished with the topic and would not continue to discuss it further. 

 

*** 

Dinner was less than half an hour away and only three-quarters of their guests had about arrived when the floo bell chimed again. Conversations had ebbed and flowed around the over populated parlor, people smiling and laughing as they chatted and teased. Hermione and Neville both looked up, but Hermione quickly turned back to her conversation with Mr. Tonks and Remus. Her parents were expected to arrive through the front door, after all, not the floo. 

Neville, however, looked a little sick. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not that his grandmother had accepted the dinner invitation at Whitehorse. On the one hand, he was glad his main blooded family would be there to spend Christmas with him. On the other… so many things could go wrong. So very many things. He wiped his sweaty palms against his thighs, earning a bit of attention from Hannah—who was otherwise wrapped up in conversation with Tonks and Susan, apparently sharing Hufflepuff secrets. 

“It’ll be fine,” the blonde told him, patting his hand reassuringly. “And if it’s not, we’ll kiss it and make it all better before getting Hermione to light her handbag and hat on fire for you.” 

He snorted, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple, which is the sight his grandmother saw when she entered the room. 

“Neville,” his grandmother’s voice fell, a single word of warning and disapproval. 

“Ah, Augusta,” Mrs. Tonks greeted, standing. “A pleasure you could make it to our little family dinner.” 

“Thank you. I’ll admit I was surprised by your invitation to a – as you say – family dinner.” 

“It is lovely when a family grows, isn’t it? We’re just waiting for a few more guests to arrive before sitting down to dinner. Would you like something to drink while we wait?” 

“No, thank you, Andromeda. What I would like is to speak privately with my grandson, if we may borrow a space?” 

“Ah, I understand,” Mrs. Tonks responded, almost commiserating. “It can be so difficult to pin them down once they’ve moved on and left us behind to our… Ted, dear, what do the muggles call it?” 

“Call what, dear?” he responded automatically. 

“When the children move out and leave the parents behind.” 

“Empty-nest,” he supplied readily, turning back to his conversation with Remus and Hermione. 

“Right, ‘empty-nest’,” repeated Andromeda. “What a strange way with words muggles have, don’t you think.” 

“No,” Augusta drawled. “In fact, I make it a point in fact to not think much about muggles at all, other than that they stay safely away.” 

Andromeda started in surprise at the other woman’s animosity, but then remembered some tidbit about the Longbottom matriarch having participated in the muggle war efforts during the second World War. It couldn’t have been pretty. Then again, neither was losing her only child in a most horrific way and being left to raise her infant grandson. And then to lose her husband shortly thereafter. No, life had not been entirely kind to August Longbottom. Still didn’t give her leave to be such a sour old vulture in Andromeda’s opinion. 

“Of course,” she said, getting ready to lead August back out of the room before she’d even had a chance to settle. Not that she wanted to settle. From the looks of her starched stance, the elder woman wouldn’t know how to compromise for anything. “Neville?” she called gently, “If you would be so kind as to follow me.” 

She didn’t take them far—there was a smaller parlor right next to the larger parlor. It was more of a hobby room now, but it would suffice for two people who apparently needed to have a chat. She offered the boy a smile for good luck before shutting the door behind him. Just as she was making her way back to the family parlor, the doorbell rang. 

**** 

 

“You look flushed,” Augusta immediately dove in. “Not coming down with a fever I hope. Or maybe just guilt, hmm? I saw you in there, sitting beside that nice young Abbott girl. Does she have any idea how you ran off with that Lovegood girl and the other boy—oh, I saw him in there, too, don’t think I didn’t! Does she know how you were unfaithful and subcommand to temptation?” 

“It’s good to see you, too, grandmother,” Neville returning, brushing past her to take a seat in one of the two arm chairs—unlike the other room, these two matched perfectly with the little settee. “Looking in fine spirits and health. Yes, I’m well, thank you for your concern. Apparently, the sun and fresh air and salt water of the Mediterranean agreed with me.” 

He paused. His grandmother’s lips had just about disappeared completely from the pressure at which she had pressed them together.

“Are you quite finished now?” she demanded. 

“Just getting started, I’d say,” Neville countered, relaxing into the chair while she continued to stand. 

“We had a lovely holiday along the Italian Riviera. Yes, my friends are all doing well, thank you for asking. We stayed at Blaise’s villa in Italy. I know you didn’t get much of an opportunity to meet and get to know him before we left. He runs his mother’s portfolio for her but he has several properties of his own. I believe you might be familiar with his mother, in name, Marianna Zabini? We didn’t get to meet her. Apparently, she was in Greece with a new husband. Number eight as I understand it. Hopefully we’ll get to meet her this summer. 

“Luna is also well. We believe her father might actually be joining us tonight—he was invited, but you never know with Mr. Lovegood. Did I mention she’d decided to sit her NEWTS early? She’s just looking for a sponsor with the school board and ministry. She’s definitely smart enough for it—she’s a Ravenclaw, through and through. Plus, she often studies with us and helps the rest of us with our homework. 

“Hannah’s doing well, too, thank you for your concern. She apparently was a little homesick while staying with her best friend, Susan Bones—I believe you knew her aunt before she passed away? She and Susan ended up joining us in Blaise’s villa. It’s actually rather a good thing you could make it tonight because Susan’s invited us all back to her family estate for the rest of the holiday, so I might not have gotten to see you before Spring.” 

“You’ll skip out on your own parents?” the elder woman demanded, furious. 

“Not at all,” Neville brushed aside her fury. “Harry and Hermione have already seen Mum and Dad, and Hannah and Susan already knew about what happened to them. The only one it might be a shock to is Blaise, but either way, we’ll all be by to visit tomorrow before leaving. 

“You might have heard a bit about the trouble Harry and Hermione had at the beginning of the holidays? But they’re fine of course. They also joined us in Italy, so it was quite a good holiday with everyone together. Time away from Hogwarts, relaxing and exploring. Of course, as I understand it, she had just about as good of a time explaining things to her parents as we had. Except maybe they actually got the whole story before they flew off into a temper and Hermione and Harry left for Italy. Hermione’s a bit nervous at the moment because they were invited tonight, too. 

“Then there was a bit of trouble yesterday when Harry and I were in Diagon Alley, but no worries. We’re completely fine. Not even a scratch on us. Hermione got a bit upset, and we had to calm her down, but things are mostly good now. I have a feeling, though, nothing will be really good until the death eaters are all gone and Voldemort is killed,” Neville frowned. 

“What were you even doing in Diagon Alley yesterday?” his grandmother demanded. “It’s dangerous out now!” 

“Well, yeah,” Neville agreed. “Blaise might own some properties, but none really fit what Harry is looking for, so we were at Gringotts getting some things set up. We need a place big enough for all of us plus kids, and it needs to be safe, because, well, there is an evil megalomaniac after Harry, and he’ll probably be after the rest of us, too. I mean, we’re already a pretty tempting target just because we’re friends with Harry, but if he ever found out we’re lovers, too?” 

Neville made a little whooshing noise sound effect and then braved a look at his grandmother to see how she was taking the massive amount of information he’d just dumped on her. 

Stunned. Stunned speechless, no less. It must be a red-letter day, he thought watching her as she stared back at him looking oh-so-conflicted. Her face was mottled—partially flushed, partially blanched, as if her body could make up its mind which reaction to go with. It was wholly unbecoming. Her fingers clutched her handbag so tight her fingers were yellowed… 

And then suddenly, they let go. She let go and slid into the other chair. “What have you done, Neville?” she breathed. Frightened eyes flew to his face, searching him as if she could find some physical proof of what he’d said—she would, if she could see under his clothes. He still sported the bite mark Harry had given him that morning. 

“I choose to be happy,” he said simply. “Being with Harry makes me happy. Being with the others makes me happy.” 

“Polygamy… it’s just not right, Neville,” she started, as if desperate to convince him to change his mind. “You’re so young. You don’t need that kind of attention in your life.” 

“I don’t think I ever would have been content with just one partner ever, Gran,” he stated plainly, not quite able to meet her gaze now. “Not and be happy. And Harry… he calls to me. It was impossible to resist that. And I didn’t want to.” 

“Your inheritance,” Augusta determined. “Something did happen. And you didn’t tell me.”

He shrugged and immediately felt the sting of a switching hex across his shoulders, forcing them back straight again. He glared back at her. “You know inheritances don’t happen all at once, and once I was really sure it was going to be a full inheritance, well, I was already back at Hogwarts, wasn’t I? And then things happened with Harry… and the others.” 

“And how many know already? Does all of Hogwarts already know?” 

“I doubt it,” he countered. “Most think the same as you did—Hannah and I make a perfect couple in the eyes of the staff and student body. It won’t be until after we graduate, when we officially move in together that anyone who bothers to notice might do so. Otherwise, we’re all just really good friends. No one else besides Susan and Madame Pomphrey even knows we’ve had inheritances. Well, I mean, Blaise’s dormmates know about him, but not about any of us.” 

“The more who know a secret, the less a secret it becomes,” his grandmother declared staunchly. 

“We’re not going to be taking out an advert in the Prophet announcing Harry Potter came into a creature inheritance and is making up a mixed harem!” Neville sputtered. “Just, come in, get to know them, and be nice,” he stressed the last. “Or else you can just go home and have Christmas dinner by yourself if you want.” 

There it was again—the disappearing lips of disapproval. 

He stood. “I’ve already been away long enough. I think I heard the doorbell when we came in here, and that would’ve been Hermione’s parents.” 

He hesitated at the door, but his grandmother still hadn’t stood. “I would like it if you joined us,” he told her, trying… She didn’t say anything, and he felt his chest harden again. “But if you can’t, you know where the floo is.” 

And then Neville walked out and left his grandmother sitting there. 

**** 

Patricia and George Granger were indeed sitting in the family parlor when Neville returned—as was Mr. Lovegood. The elder Grangers’ eyes kept flitting over the ensemble, as if not quite sure what to expect. Mrs. and Mr. Tonks remained the perfect hosts, engaging both Grangers in safe conversations, while Remus and Tonks talked to Mr. Lovegood. 

The pard all looked up, searching his face for any indication of how the conversation with his gran had gone. Harry stood and approached him. 

“Do I need to go and have a word with her?” he asked softly, looking behind Neville and not seeing the elder Longbottom. 

Neville smiled and pulled Harry away from the door. “No, Harry. It’s fine. She needs to figure out her next move is all.” 

“Will your grandmother not be staying, Neville?” Mrs. Tonks called out, looking up to see the young man reenter the room. “Dinner is almost ready.” 

“That’s fine, Andromeda,” Mrs. Longbottom said from doorway, hesitating barely a moment before stepping in. “I just needed an extra moment.” 

And then began the awkwardness of a family gathering filled with introductions of people you were supposedly somehow related to in some fashion but didn’t really know, and stop and go conversation that sometimes lagged for a common topic and sometimes raced ahead with enthusiasm. Dinner was scrumptious, although not quite right—a different recipe used on an old favorite—and pudding afterwards was riddled with tense expectations and anticipations. 

It was Luna who finally started the exodus when she went up to her father and told him, “It’s past your bedtime, Daddy. You’ll never get the next issue of the Quibbler out on time if you don’t get your proper sleep.” 

“Right you are, moonbeam,” Mr. Lovegood agreed before making his goodbyes to everyone. 

Which lead to the Grangers both taking their leave. “Bit of a drive, you know.” 

“Do you need someone to pop you home?” Andromeda asked, ever the attentive hostess. “I’m sure Nymphadora and Remus would be willing you pop you back home on their way…?” 

“Oh, but we have the car, and we wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Mrs. Granger countered. 

“Besides,” Tonks interjected, “Really don’t know if I could shrink the car without making it go all funny. Best not to tempt it.” 

“Neville, I expect to be seeing you and your… friends, tomorrow,” Augusta announced as she stood to make her way to the floo. 

And then finally it was just the pard left to floo back over to Grimauld Place and Draco sulking at being still there. 

“Andromeda, thank you for hosting,” Harry said, stepping up to give her a hug and a kiss. 

“A little unorthodox, perhaps,” the elder Black woman deemed. “But overall, I would say it went well for a first extended family gathering. I would hope, though, next year, we shall all be celebrating the holidays at your new established home. It is, after all, the head of house’s duty to host important family gatherings.” 

“We need to find the right place first,” Harry reminded her. “But I’m hopeful, too. Neville and I are going to take a look at a couple of places before we leave. I’d like to have wherever it is we decide to live ready before we leave Hogwarts in June.” 

“I’m sure you will find the perfect place for you and your mates, Harry,” Andromeda encouraged, cupping his cheek with one hand and kissing the other cheek. “You are doing wonderful, young man. And your young family looks very fine, too.” 

He grinned bashfully and ducked his head. “I hope we can continue to trust on your guidance and advice in the years to come?” 

“It would be my honor. Now, go. Take your family home. As I understand it, you have another busy day ahead of you tomorrow.” She paused. “My sister… was not always the sane or rational being. But she was never truly insane. Not when I knew her, when we were children together and at Hogwarts. But she never forgave me—not for what she and my parents and aunties saw as abandoning my family obligation, not for choosing Ted, and definitely not for leaving her as next in line to fulfill the marriage contract between the Blacks and Lestranges. I sometimes wonder if something was done to her, done to her mind, that finally broke her sanity and pushed her into the void. I love her, because she is my sister. But I also hate her, for all of the terrible, terrible things she has done.” 

“She killed Sirius.” 

Andromeda’s eyes pressed shut. “Then she has truly lost herself and turned her back on family. I know it’s much to ask, but if you ever get the chance, Harry, please, give peace to her soul. Don’t let them send her back to Azkaban.” 

Harry stared at her for a moment… and then nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted a month later than originally hoped for, but NaNoWriMo does take away attention that might otherwise have been spent on reading/reviewing/editing... Then again, it also added another 50K to this story, so... Hope everyone is having an enjoyable holiday season. One more chapter, and then we're heading back to Hogwarts!


	36. A New Term

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pard returns to Hogwarts after winter break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Warning for this chapter: male pregnancy, gore associated with forced cesarean delivery, mention of involuntary impregnation and gestation.

Chapter 36: A New Term

~THEN~

“It’s good to see you, too, grandmother,” Neville returning, brushing past her to take a seat in one of the two arm chairs. “Looking in fine spirits and health. Yes, I’m well, thank you for your concern. Apparently, the sun and fresh air and salt water of the Mediterranean agreed with me.” 

“Are you quite finished now?” she demanded. 

“Just getting started, I’d say,” Neville countered, relaxing into the chair while she continued to stand. 

“We had a lovely holiday along the Italian Riviera. Yes, my friends are all doing well, thank you for asking. We stayed at Blaise’s villa in Italy. I know you didn’t get much of an opportunity to meet and get to know him before we left. He runs his mother’s portfolio for her but he has several properties of his own… Luna is also well. Did I mention she’d decided to sit her NEWTS early? She’s just looking for a sponsor with the school board and ministry… Hannah’s doing well, too, thank you for your concern. She apparently was a little homesick while staying with her best friend, Susan Bones…She and Susan ended up joining us in Blaise’s villa. It’s actually rather a good thing you could make it tonight because Susan’s invited us all back to her family estate for the rest of the holiday, so I might not have gotten to see you before Spring.” 

“You’ll skip out on your own parents?” the elder woman demanded, furious. 

“Not at all,” Neville brushed aside her fury. “Harry and Hermione have already seen Mum and Dad, and Hannah and Susan already knew about what happened to them. The only one it might be a shock to is Blaise, but either way, we’ll all be by to visit tomorrow before leaving…Blaise might own some properties, but none really fit what Harry is looking for, so we were at Gringotts getting some things set up. We need a place big enough for all of us plus kids, and it needs to be safe, because, well, there is an evil megalomaniac after Harry, and he’ll probably be after the rest of us, too. I mean, we’re already a pretty tempting target just because we’re friends with Harry, but if he ever found out we’re lovers, too?” 

Neville made a little whooshing noise sound effect and then braved a look at his grandmother to see how she was taking the massive amount of information he’d just dumped on her. 

“What have you done, Neville?” she breathed. 

“I chose to be happy,” he said simply. 

 

~NOW~

\- Saturday, January 3, Hogwarts - 

The return to Hogwarts was bittersweet. While they were all glad to be “going back home”, there had been a peacefulness to being in another country where the weight and responsibilities of their own country couldn’t really touch them. The Bones Family Manor had been everything Susan had promised them—big, tranquil, and remote. Neville had been in heaven, visiting the conservatory for hours at a time before blazing through the different greenhouses available.

But just because they were removed from the drama of the war, it didn’t mean Voldemort and his forces were quiet. If anything, after Christmas, it seemed as if there were more attacks reported than before. Worse still, was the fact that the muggles were starting to notice the rise in attacks. Despite Harry’s rallying cry for the witches and wizards of Brittan to stand up and defend themselves, only two more Death Eaters were collected. He supposed two was better than their previous score of zero, but standing on the Platform 9 ¾, patrolling the train as it sped back towards Hogsmeade, sitting in the Great Hall looking around him… He knew two were too few. The population of Hogwarts had taken another hit. The students from the Hogsmeade Raid were still missing, but now there were several other missing students—families that could had moved away to get as far away from the dissention and unrest as possible. Other students looked more like unanimated ghosts—victims of the death eater raids, either first hand or through extended family. 

The only really joy in returning to Hogwarts for many of the students was their belief that the school equaled safety. Harry could have told them how false that belief was. 

Still, Harry had his own reasons for being excited to return to Hogwarts as he and Neville nervously escorted Hermione and Hannah into the Hospital Wing. 

“Ah, Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger,” Madame Pomphrey greeted before seeing the other two. “Mr. Longbottom, Ms. Abbott, a pleasure. I understand this is a group affair. Let’s take this into the back room—I have two patients in with a touch of the flu up front.” 

She led them off to a side room and closed the door after they’d all traipsed in. “Now, as I have been privy to some further information and some of the particulars of our unique arrangement, I would like to take this opportunity to speak with you all plainly, as your primary medical care provider. First, I wish to confirm, there are others in your group, isn’t that right? But they couldn’t be here?” 

“There are,” Harry confirmed. “Two others.” 

“We didn’t know they’d need to be here,” Hannah added. “They aren’t the ones pregnant.” 

Madame Pomphrey pursed her lips… you could almost hear the ‘yet’ hanging in the air. “And you have all been sexually active?” she confirmed. “And do they also have creature inheritances?” 

“Should I go and get them?” Neville asked, hesitantly looking between Harry and the mediwitch. 

“No need, dear. I’ll just have an elf deliver them a note,” the mediwitch declared, waving her wand and conjuring parchment and quill. Within a minute she had both notes written and sent off with an elf, not even batting an eye at the fact she was summoning a sixth-year student or a Slytherin student. “Now then,” she continued, turning back to the four assembled. “Ms. Granger, I believe we’ll start with you, if you will please? Up on the bed.” 

“Is this really necessary?” Hermione asked even as she settled back on the bed, feeling decidedly uncomfortable and exposed for all that she was fully dressed. 

“Relaxes the core muscles,” Madame Pomphrey explained as she began waving her wand over the young witch. “Well, it’s as we feared.” 

“The spell failed again?” Hermione gaped, sitting up. 

“Lie back down, Ms. Granger, please,” the medi-witch commanded. “Yes, the stasis spell failed again. It does appear that you are one of the few witches for which the spell will not take. That being said, we’ll take another look, shall we? About thirteen weeks, I’d say. Just ready to enter your second trimester. And you had no nausea?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm. No fatigue?” 

“Well, we have been fairly busy,” Hermione hedged. “It would only be normal that I’d be a bit tired, what with everything going on. But I’ve been mostly fine the last two weeks. I mean, we’ve been relaxing.” 

“If by relaxing you mean running from one museum to another,” Hannah snorted. 

“I happen to find that very relaxing, yes, actually.” 

“Just a minute, dears. Someone’s entered the ward,” Madame Pomphrey excused herself. 

Hermione turned her eyes to Harry who was frowning and staring off into space. “Harry, this isn’t good.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Me, being pregnant,” Hermione expounded. “It’s really not a good idea. I mean, we’re in the middle of our last year. There’s NEWTS—how am I possibly supposed to do my NEWTS when I’m all bloated and fat?” 

“I really can’t imagine you fat.” 

“Not helping.” 

“Hermione, calm down. It’s not like we intentionally set out to knock you up. I mean, yeah, we did sort of talk about it, but I don’t think either one of us really thought it would happen so soon.” 

“It’s a little late to be second guessing yourself, Mr. Potter,” the mediwitch declared, stepping back into the room. “Maybe you should have given more thought to the consequences before your started dallying about. And Ms. Granger, I will remind you that it was you and Ms. Abbott here who came to me earlier in the fall demanding I preform this spell. It seems to me you were quite intentional and purposeful about conceiving.” 

She went back to waving her wand over Hermione’s body, this time from head to foot and back again. Upon completion, a tiny scrap of parchment spat out of her wand. Madame Pomphrey read the report silently to herself, frowning. “It looks like you’re a little anemic—you’ll want to increase your iron intake some. We’ll also want to keep an eye on that blood pressure—it’s a little higher than I’d like to see it. Nothing dangerous. Adolescent pregnancies are not without their challenges. I’ll want to see you every two weeks. We need to keep an eye on things. If you have a textbook perfect pregnancy, that’ll be just fine, but you’re young, and that’s a mark against you in this situation.” 

“Go ahead and get up,” she told her Hermione before motioning to Hannah. “Your turn Ms. Abbott. How have you been feeling? Any nausea? Light headedness?” 

“No, I think I’ve been good,” the blonde girl shared. “I mean, a little tired, but as Hermione said, we’ve been a bit busy with prefect duty and the mentorship rotation and then the different festivals and making sure there were some activities planned for the holidays even though we weren’t here ourselves to enjoy them...” 

“I understand, Ms. Abbott. You will be happy to hear, I think, that your pregnancy is still stable at approximately six weeks.” 

“Oh, good. So I’m still okay to have the spell cast on me, without any problems? I mean, at least for a couple more months, right? We can release the spell this summer, maybe.”   
‘  
“There will be no maybes about it,” Pomphrey interjected. It is dangerous to leave this spell on for too long. It could actually harm your chances to conceive again. The only reason I’m agreeing to this now at all is because you are still a student, and I knew you would go off and try and cast the spell yourself! Not acceptable! Not at al-oh, there goes the proximity alert again. Excuse me. Neville, I want to see you up on that table next.” 

“What? Me? Why me?” the boy in question looked over to the others as Madame Pomphrey had already left the room to see who had entered her domain now. 

“Maybe she plans on checking all of us? I mean, she did call for Blaise and Luna, too.” 

“Indeed I did, and wouldn’t you know it, they were able to arrive at about the same time, funnily enough. What a coincidence,” the mediwitch drawled, steering the two newest teens into the room with their pard mates. Once more she shut the door behind her. “Mr. Longbottom, I believe I said I wanted you lying flat on the table, not still standing beside it. Right you are, Ms. Abbott, I do indeed intend to check each and every one of you to make sure you are all in good health. I believe someone mentioned something about a creature inheritance—other than yours, Harry, I’ll get to you in a moment.” 

“I’m fine,” the raven hair boy mumbled. 

“I’m sure you are, but it never hurts to keep abreast of things. I have, of course, since I last saw you, done a spot of research.” 

“Forgive me, Madame Pomphrey, but we weren’t able to find very much about Vanteerians in the library.” 

“Forgive me, Ms. Granger, but you’ll find I have a few more sources than just the school library,” the mediwitch returned. Hermione looked so stunned the others had to look away before laughing. “Now, Mr. Longbottom, if you’ll please? On the bed, hup hup.” 

Neville obediently laid back on the bed and watched nervously as the medi-with waved her wand up and down his body, just like she’d down with both girls. As before, a strip of parchment spat from her wand and she read it attentively. Her lips pressed together, and Neville sat up, anxious that something might be wrong somehow. He felt perfectly fine—healthy and hale and all that. 

“Nymph, then?” the medi-witch asked finally, looking away from the script and back at him. “Dryad, specifically, I would suspect. Your grandmother must be relieved. I know your grandfather would certainly be proud to have another nymph present in the family. Do you have everything you need?” 

Neville flushed and looked away. “I’m good.” 

“Hmm. Well, the minute you start noticing a slump, let me know. Most nymphs find the winter months especially difficult.” 

“Professor Spout has pretty much allowed me free hand with the greenhouses, so I don’t mind it so much.” 

“That’s good, I suppose. And no other concerns? Food allergies popping up?” 

“No, actually,” he said slightly surprised. “I mean, I tend to avoid anything too salty, but sitting next to Harry, that’s not really a problem.” 

“Oh? And why is that?” 

“The house elves have been offering him mostly elven dishes.” 

“And that, of course, is quite acceptable feast for a nymph,” Madame Pomphrey approved. “And none of your other friends have noticed the change?” 

“Well, it’s not usually enough for too many, and, well, I mean, it’s usually only Luna and sometimes Hermione who share off our plates, so…” 

“Quite. Ms. Lovegood, if you please, up on the bed. You’re next.” Luna complied without a word and the process repeated itself until Madame Pomphrey was again reading the parchment script. 

“Fae,” Luna unannounced, “Unpresented as of yet.” 

“I would say I was surprised, but Mr. Potter does manage to surround himself with the extra-ordinary, doesn’t he? Very well, Ms. Lovegood, thank you, you may get down. And now you, Mr. Zabini.” 

“Of course,” the dark skinned young man complied, “But I could tell you what you will find.” 

“Just a moment young man,” the mediwitch held him off while she performed her scan, frowning deeper than before, this time not in annoyance or displeasure as in so much puzzlement. As if she wasn’t quite sure what to think or believe about what she was reading. 

“It’s quite all right,” Blaise told her. “Your scan’s not wrong. At least, I don’t think it is. It wouldn’t make sense for it to work perfectly fine every time before me, and then suddenly not work on me.” 

“These readings can’t be right.” 

“Why? What do they say?” Harry demanded, suddenly upset at the idea that something was wrong with Blaise, despite how calm the boy in question was. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He’s just, well, I’m fairly sure… Well, it appears as if my scan has somehow double over on itself, producing two readings for one being.” 

“Double? That doesn’t make sense.” 

“I assure you, it does,” Blaise soothed, smiling a bit wryly. “I choose to present in this fashion, but remember, I have another true form. I suspect that’s what the good mediwitch is seeing.” 

“I don’t understand,” Harry persisted. “Surely you’ve been to the hospital wing at some point in your Hogwarts career. She should have noticed something different about you then, right?” 

“Madame Pomphrey doesn’t run such intensive and personal tests on people who just are here for a quick pepper-up or bruise salve…” 

“No, of course not!” the mediwitch agreed. 

“And even if I had been to the Hospital Wing for something more serious, until very late last year, I was still mostly single sexed.” 

“I’m not sure I follow,” Hermione frowned. “How can you be mostly single sexed and then turn double sexed?” 

“My inheritance blossomed,” he offered nonchalantly. 

“This is why you could turn into a girl?” Harry asked, remembering the very first morning he’d woken up with Blaise in his bed. 

The Italian boy nodded. “Both are true forms for me, so you see, Madame Pomphrey, your spell is not incorrect.” 

“It might make diagnosis a bit more problematic,” the mediwitch frowned, still trying to decipher the two intermixed readings. “But from what I can make out of this for the moment, you seem in good health.” 

“Yes, ma’am. I am kept very well satisfied with this group.” 

“That’s good. And will you be experiencing something similar to Neville’s estrus that we should prepare for?” Neville flushed red, but Blaise remained calm. 

“It is unlikely that I will enter a brooding period while still a student, but I thank you for your concern,” he responded to the rather intimate question. 

Madame Pomphrey pursed her lips again, but finally nodded. “Fine then, off with you. Harry, your turn, up on the bed.” 

“Is this really necessary?” the head boy groused as he dutifully hopped up onto the bed. 

“Yes, now stop your complaining. Even if Ms. Granger and Ms. Abbott didn’t already have an appointment to see me, I would have wanted to see you again. You might recall, the last time I saw you, you were still recovering from injuries you’d received during a death eater attack.” 

“I’m all better, promise!” 

“I believe you, but that still doesn’t mean I’m not going to check,” the medi-witch proclaimed, repeating the procedure of waving her wand from head to toe and then skimming the results. “As suspected, your body’s natural healing talents have completely repaired any of the damage. It looks like it’s even been busy repairing some of the more insidious damage left behind from your youth.” 

Harry tensed at that, but the medi-witch wasn’t paying attention as she summoned a folder from her office. Around the room, the other pard members stood up straighter and looked over at Harry questioningly, all except Hermione who just looked sad, not able to look at Harry as she worried her lip. 

“What does she mean, ‘damage from your youth’?” Neville half-whispered to Harry. 

“She’s not referring to your unfortunate meeting with a certain dark wizard, is she?” Blaise added, protective hackles raised. 

A thick folder forced its way in under the door. And then several more followed, some so thick they had to split themselves into several groups to fit under the door and then reassemble on the side of the door. 

“Is that all Harry’s?” 

“Yes, from each of his years. He’s kept me quite busy.”

“So many!”

Too many. The seven files settled themselves on a little side table and Madame Pomphrey immediately reached for the slimmest one on the bottom. Flipping it over she briefly skimmed through multiple pages searching for and finding the confirmation she was looking for. “Yes, see here… Just as I thought. Your body is healing itself from years of malnourishment and abuse. It’s probably why you could finally afford a growth spurt this year. I’d say that’s your creature inheritance stepping in to make you as in perfect health and condition as possible to help care for and protect your mates. And what’s even better, I can detect no detrimental side effects cropping up from the mixture of basilisk venom and phoenix tears in your blood.” 

“What?” several voices all cried out in various stages of surprise and fright.

“Well, after so many years, I was only slightly concerned something might react, and after hearing you’d come into a creature inheritance, I definitely wanted another check, but… there you have it. You, Mr. Potter, are truly in the best health you’ve ever been in.” 

“So, I’m free to go then, right?” Harry ask, slightly desperately, more than ready to be off the bed and out of there. 

“Not so fast, Harry,” Neville stepped up as Harry moved to hop off the bed. “I think some of us would like to have a little chat with you.” 

“A chat that can take place in the privacy of your own rooms now, I think, Mr. Longbottom. You are all free to go.” 

**** 

“Just what did she mean, Harry?” Blaise was first to ask once the doors of the Head chambers closed behind them. “Years of abuse and neglect?” 

“Technically, malnourishment, and it wasn’t that bad.” 

“Years, Harry, she said years!” Hannah stressed, eyes watering freely. 

“I thought it might be something,” Neville admitted, looking bashfully at him. “But, I mean, I didn’t expect…” 

“I knew,” Hermione put in quietly, not meeting anyone else’s look but Harry. “But you’ve got to admit, Harry, the way she said it… years… and the size of those files…” She took a deep breath but it didn’t stop her own eyes from watering. 

“I mean, yeah, it was bad. I get it,” Harry told them. “But it’s over now, isn’t it? I’m never going back there again, am I? And you heard Madame Pomphrey—my body’s healing itself from whatever, and I’m as good as new, better than ever, even!” 

“And the basilisk venom and phoenix tears?” Blaise asked. “Quite a potent mixed.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t have the scar anymore to show you, but it used to be right here,” he said, grabbing his inner elbow. “Took a bloody fang while stabbing it.” 

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione said dully. “Second year. Slytherin’s monster was a basilisk.” 

“And you figured out it was using the pipes to get around the school,” Harry reminded her, more than a little proud of her reasoning capabilities. 

“You mean those rumors were true?” Blaise asked, frowning. “You really are the heir?” 

“Well, not really, but possibly,” Harry confessed. “Technically, the last official heir to come through Hogwarts was Tom Riddle, but he didn’t like the fact his mum named him after his muggle dad, so he changed it when he got older. Most everyone now calls him Lord Voldemort.” 

The others looked at him with dull disbelief, all except Hermione who already knew most of everything. 

“What? It’s true?” Harry squawked defensively. “His mom was, like, the last daughter of the Gaunt Family, she was practically a squib, but she must have been decent enough with potions because she supposedly used a love potion on his dad to convince him to run away with her. At some point she stopped dosing him, but she was already pregnant. He woke up, freaked out, and left. She died giving birth to baby Voldemort in some orphanage in London, and that’s where he grew up.” 

“You-Know-Who’s given name is… Tom?” Neville asked. 

“I know right? A good, old fashioned, proper English name, and he goes and changes it to something weird,” Harry shrugged. 

“It’s not weird, it’s French,” Hermione countered. “I looked it up. Roughly translated, it means ‘Flight of Death’ or ‘Flight from Death’. Which is rather ironic when you consider his evil minions are called Death Eaters.” 

“At least he kept with the theme,” Luna supplied. 

“Aren’t we all missing the point here?” Hannah shouted.

“No, we’re not,” Harry attempted to soothe her, grabbing her balled fists and pulling her into him. “Yes, things were bad when I was littler. But I’m not that little boy anymore, Hannah. I’m okay now.” 

“But it’s not okay,” she protested. “Parents are supposed to love and protect you!” 

“But I didn’t have my parents,” he reminded her gently. 

“Then the people who were charged with taking care of you!” she shouted. 

“But they weren’t. They never asked to have another child. They just woke up one morning and there one was, out on the doorstep with the morning milk.” 

“What?” Even Hermione sounded taken back by that. 

“Yep. Just a note saying, ‘hey, your sister and her husband died. Here’s their kid.’” 

“You mean, no one even spoke to them?” 

“Nope, not that I’m away of, and believe me, my aunt and uncle made me very aware of the fact they were given no choice in taking me in. They used to lament not taking me to an orphanage when they found me.” 

“They couldn’t have,” Hermione whispered. “Orphanages don’t really exist anymore.” 

“Oh. Well, that explains it then.” 

“That explains nothing! Madame Pomphrey said you were malnourished—couldn’t they have used the stipend to buy enough food for everyone?” 

“Oh, they had enough food,” Hermione practically growled. “Believe you me, I’ve seen them. Grossly overweight, his uncle and cousin. No, they choose not to feed him.” 

“That’s why you were so much smaller than almost everyone else when we started.” 

“And why you never really ate all that much at the welcome back feasts, either, isn’t it? They starved you…” 

“Listen guys, yeah things were bad,” Harry interjected, more than ready to be done with this topic. “Probably worse than I really understood it, but I lived through it, and like I said, I’m never going back there. I don’t have to have anything to do with the Dursleys ever again. And I’ve made sure to fill a will with Gringotts that covers as many contingencies as I could think of in case something does happen to me in this war, so that you and our children can be as safe and protected as possible.” 

“What? Harry—that’s—” 

“Now, I really don’t want to talk about my past. It’s over with and I want to leave it there in the past. I’m more interested in our future.” 

He pulled Hermione against him, hand sliding over her waist to cover her small belly where they now knew their first child was growing. “We have a little nugget to prepare for, and we should probably talk about how you want to handle things, Hermione.” 

And thankfully, it didn’t take much more to turn the topic of conversation away from him. Not that the others were about to forget what they now knew, but at least they could all turn their attention towards something they could actually do something about.

 

**** 

\- Wednesday, January 14, Dungeons - 

He was expecting something… just not so soon. 

The air left his lungs in a whoosh as his back slammed into the stone wall, propelled by the push against his shoulder. The back of his head stung from where it had cracked against stone, and he took a moment to blink his eyes back into focus. 

“What the hell, Zabini, you a traitor?” 

Reginald Stanton was a puffed up sixth year Slytherin who had aspirations to rule the roost—unfortunately for him, no one else in Slytherin seemed to agree but a very select few. In some respects, the boy reminded Blaise of a younger, less popular Draco. But the boy wasn’t even half as pretty, or eloquent, or financially and politically endowed. Meaning, he was a loser and a bully. 

“Didn’t think anyone would catch on to your escapades, huh?” the boy attempted to growl—still trapped in that awkward stage of adolescents where everything looked put together wrong, disproportionate. “Well, guess what? Someone did see you! Saw you on your knees moaning around a mouthful of cock like a filthy whore, and for a stinky Gryffindor.” 

Whoops. Maybe he should have listened to Neville that morning when the other had suggested a quickie so near to the more populated corridors really wasn’t such a good idea, and yet… it had been a truly fabulous idea, and he totally planned on doing again sometime. “I know it’s hard, but try not to be too jealous,” Blaise drawled, rolling the ache off his shoulders and stepping away from the wall. 

Reginald might have tried to bully Blaise, to crowd his space and force him into a defense, but the boy was grossly out of depth in the intimidation department. After all, Blaise had spent the past seven years watching Greg and Vincent intimidate others simply by walking into a room—they were actually okay blokes, all things considered, just grossly out of their depths most of the time. In fact, the only reason they were at Hogwarts at all is because of the prestige that comes with attending and the fact their families could afford to send them. Higher education was wasted on some, like the one in front of him. 

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” 

“Oh? Were you talking? Watch me not care,” Blaise responded, turning away from him. 

Stanton reached for him again, but this time Blaise was ready for him. He side-stepped the grab and swung away, wand in hand and digging into the uppity little snot’s throat. “I suggest you not try to touch me again, Stanton. It might be hazardous to your health.”

“So you really are a traitor to your own House,” Stanton sneered—the ignorant moron was too big of an idiot, he didn’t even bother to care for his appearance. His face was covered in pustules that disgusted Blaise to even look at. One of the first potions they all learned to brew was the boil remover. Only the idiots who didn’t do the reading failed to realize that diluted, it could be used as an anti-acne potion. The fact no one had told Stanton—not even his so-called friends—was even more nauseating. 

With a sneer of his own, Blaise pushed the grotesque boy away from him. “I suggest you leave matters that you are grossly undereducated in alone, Stanton, and not try to interfere in matters that do not concern you.” 

He turned to leave again, wondering if he was going to have to take matters a step further to get the little creep to desist. He had made it only a handful of steps when a warm purr sent shivers down his back. 

“I do trust you weren’t about to cast magic in the hallways, Mr. Stanton.” 

Blaise turned back to watch as their head of house prowled down the corridor towards them… and yes, Stanton did have his wand out. The stinking coward. 

“No, sir,” the twit bleated. “Zabini and I were just having a little chat about the people he’s been choosing to associate with recently, sir. Were you aware—”

“I assure you, Stanton, I have forgotten more than you will ever be aware of in this school.” Liquid dark eyes shot from piecing the sixth year to the spot to lasering in on Blaise, and he felt his pulse quicken and fought the urge to swallow. There was something about the elder Slytherin that called to him on an instinctive level. He’d always appreciated the older man’s character—his poise, his elocution, his sheer radiating presence… and as he matured himself and became more in line with his inner nature… his raw sexuality. By sixth year, more and more of Blaise’s peers were being to take note of the Slytherin head of house. He was, after all, the youngest member of staff, even if his personality dissuaded the majority from ever attempting anything. A year later, Blaise still felt that instinctual pull towards the older man. That wasn’t all that surprising. What did surprise him was the desire to dominate the other man. He blinked, pushing away the image of pressing on the man’s shoulders and forcing him to his knees before him… the very position Blaise himself had taken only too willingly this morning. 

“Mr. Zabini’s actions, and who he chooses to spend his time with, are of no concern to you, Mr. Stanton. Now, I suggest you leave this corridor immediately and return to your common room.” 

“But sir! It’s not even close to curfew!”

“I think you will find, Mr. Stanton, that for you, curfew began five minutes ago.” 

The sixth year looked pathetically confused and in disbelief. 

“You should go now. It would be unwise for me to find you again this evening.” 

“I—yes, sir,” the boy finally capitulated, and walked back down the corridor, away from the direction Blaise had been heading. Curfew wasn’t for another hour, but then, Blaise had had no real intention of spending the night in his own dorm room. 

“You have been incautious, Mr. Zabini,” Snape began once the other boy was firmly away, watching Blaise closely.

He debated how to play out the rest of this very unusual encounter—their head of house was not known for his direct instruction or interference of in-house matters. Then again, his current liaisons were not in-house, were they? And perhaps worse, they involved Harry, and everyone knew there were nothing but loathing between Severus Snape and the Potter name. Just exactly how much did the professor know about his actions? 

“Remember there is more at stake than your love life.” The professor loomed closer, invading Blaise’s personal space. Now here was a man who knew the art of intimidation. “There is a war raging outside of these walls, and there are some who would like nothing better than to drag that war right into our very beds.” 

“Depending on who you talk to, I’m already in bed with the enemy.” 

“Then you should know to be doubly as cautious and not endanger those you profess to care for. Unless, of course, it is all a ruse, and you intend to turn them over when it is most beneficial to you. That is, after all, a very ambitious and cunning action.” 

“And a cowardly one,” Blaise sneered. “I have more loyalty than that.” 

“See that you do. The game you are playing is not for the weak-willed.” 

“I’m not playing any game, professor. I’ve made my choice, and I will stand by it.” 

“Very well.” Snape leaned away, and even just those few inches seemed like a breath of free air. “See that you do not come to regret that choice, Mr. Zabini.” 

“I don’t think I will, sir.” 

“I will not always save you from your housemates’ retribution once it becomes known.” 

He wanted to say he didn’t need saving, but that was a childish response. Instead, he answered, “I understand, sir.”

He turned to leave, making it another five steps away before Snape’s voice called back to him. 

“Mr. Zabini, perhaps you have forgotten where the Slytherin Common Room is?” 

Blaise turned, smirk curling his lips. “I haven’t forgotten, sir. It’s a very nice common room. I’ve enjoyed it these last six years. But I find the Head’s common room to better suit my needs this year.” 

“You’re abandoning your house dorm entirely?” 

Blaise paused, his smirk slipping. “I think that might be for the best, sir. Don’t you agree?” When Snape said nothing further, Blaise nodded. “Have a good rest of your evening, sir,” he added as he turned and finished walking away. 

The Pard didn’t say anything when he entered their suite. He slipped in quietly, seamlessly. The next morning, he didn’t attempt any subterfuge as they all went down to breakfast. He merely slipped his hand into Luna’s and walked down with the rest of them. Quite frankly, he was bored of having to hide his affection towards and with the other members of the pard, all because he was in Slytherin, and it could be potentially dangerous for his housemates to learn just how closely aligned he was with Harry Potter. 

Luna squeezed his hand. 

It wasn’t until they were all settled comfortably around the Gryffindor table breaking their fast and another Gryffindor brought up the fact there was a Slytherin sitting at their table that the rest even noticed him being there was anything out of the ordinary. 

“Uh, Harry, you okay with this?” 

Harry looked up from his porridge, confused. “With what?” 

Seamus nodded towards where Blaise sat between Luna and Neville, calmly making them all a cup of coffee from the fancy silver pot the house elves must have sent over from Slytherin’s table, shooting Hermione an apologetic look at her covetous gaze. 

“We can try one of the herbal blends, Neville got for Christmas,” Hannah tried to console her, patting her knee from where she sat beside the head girl, across from Neville and the others, even as she shot her own envious looks at the highly caffeinated beverage. 

Harry blinked, still confused at whatever it was Seamus was questioning. “Did you want some coffee, too?” he asked finally. “I’m sure Blaise would be willing to share.” 

And then it seemed to click. “Decided to finally sit with us for meals, then?” he asked after Seamus shook his head and seemingly went back to his conversation with some other Gryffs. 0

Blaise’s eyes darted to the head table. His head of house and several other professors had certainly noticed his choice of seating this morning. “I had a run in last night that intimated that it was long past time to quite hiding my alliances.” 

“Will this make things difficult for you?” Hermione asked, unable to prevent the frown tugging at her lips. 

“I’m sure some things will be more complicated,” he admitted before continuing, “but overall, I expect this to simplify matters. And, if nothing else, it will not seem unseemly now when I am seen walking you to and from the classes we share.” 

“You did not just come out to the entire school, so you could walk me to our Runes, History, and Arithmancy classes, did you?” she asked aghast. 

“Of course not,” he dissuaded. “That just happens to be a very happy side effect. And besides, consider me acting as a positive role model for some of the other Slytherins who are still finding it difficult to either play nice with the other houses or accept the fact they actually do have a choice in this war, no matter what their families say.” 

“I would think I make the better role model for that,” a voice drawled from behind him. “Budge over, will you. There’s a foul stench hovering near my preferred seat. I simply couldn’t stomach it so early in the morning.” 

Blaise looked up, surprised, but obligingly made room for Draco to sit beside him. “Apparently someone took offense with the sixth-year boys,” the blond continued, although no one asked him. “Set off a sack of dung bombs in their dormitory. The smell permeated all the way into the common room this morning. Absolutely foul.” 

**** 

\- Friday, January 23, somewhere - 

He was dreaming. 

It was a strange experience, to be alert and yet realize you were asleep. Never before had he been so conscience of himself as a separate entity within a dream. It was peculiar. 

He looked around him. He was standing outside a house, tucked between some trees. The house he was looking at seemed familiar, but how had he gotten there? Why was he here? Where was here even? 

Should he go in the house? He was in the house. 

He didn’t remember traveling up the walk or how he got through the door. He was just suddenly inside the door, looking at the entry way. There was a staircase leading up to the first floor. There were doors ahead and to the side of him. 

He was through the door. 

It was a sitting room. A man and a woman were inside. Both seemed exhausted, defeated, wearied to the bone as they slumped over the arms of a chair and sofa. 

“Seven down,” the man mumbled. “Only another twenty-six to go.” 

The woman whimpered. “That’s this week alone,” she sobbed. “You need to tell him we need more help!” 

“If I were to do that, he’d likely kill me,” the man snapped, borderline panicky. “Then you’d be here tending to all the deliveries and the birthings, and the incubators, and the offerings alone! Is that what you want?” 

“No,” she answered brokenly. “Someone will be coming by to tend to the babes?” 

“I’ve told you so, haven’t I?” the man groused, and the woman flinched. “I just don’t know when. Hopefully before the end of the week. I can’t keep this up. They keep waking up and screaming.” 

“They’re hungry and needing a feed, or they need their nappies changed, Ernie,” the woman tried to placate. “It’s not their fault. They’re just babies.” 

“Yes, well, there’s a reason I told you I never wanted children,” Ernie retorted gruffly. “Just my luck our Lord has assigned me this task. I’ll be spending the next year surrounded by the little beasts.” 

The woman mumbled something that sounded like, “Your lord, not mine.” 

But before the man could respond to her, an alarm triggered. Ernie growled as he pushed up. The woman seemed to curl in on herself. “Come along, Eudora. That’ll be another one ready to pop. Best call that elf of yours to get another crib ready.” 

Eudora got to her feet as well, soft slippered feet pattering after him. 

Harry went, too. Only, he didn’t follow them up the stairs, he was just suddenly there. In the room where bed after bed was set out. Each bed was occupied by a body—mostly women, but a few men, he noticed. But what really stood out were their gravid stomachs, distended to all different sizes. Some of the bellies actually moved, shifted and stretched, although their hosts never awakened. 

Each bed looked very much like another—except for one that was about halfway down on the left. This bed was pulsing with a dim yellow light that was slowly darkening as he watched. Moments later, the man and woman from downstairs—Ernie and Eudora, that was important. He needed to remember that. —entered the room. He strode right up to the bed, wand in hand. 

“Are you ready, Eudora?” Ernie asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer as his wand was slashing. 

“Romkey?” the woman called out in a whisper, also rushing over to the bed. 

Instantly, there was a pop as a house elf popped in with extra linens. “Romkey was just tending the babes, Missy Watkins, but bes here now.” 

Ernie had removed the sheet covering the person on the bed and sliced a horizontal cut low along the man’s bulging stomach. And it was a man, he noted, for the body was very much nude under the sheet. The house elf rushed forward with a towel and placed it over the sleeping man’s genitals, catching the streaming blood pouring from the open cut. 

Ernie paid no mind to the bloody mess he was making as he put his hand at the top of the man’s rounded belly, up near the chest, and pushed down and out. There was another gush of blood, a squelching sound as flesh was forced apart to make way for the sac that was being forced free of the body. He raised his wand again, slashing open the caul with a gush of other fluid—reddish but more watery than blood. 

“Come, take it,” he commanded, and Eudora rushed forward, reaching into the stretched membrane and pulling out a curled up newborn. She took up another linen Romsey held out for her and started swaddling and tending to the baby while Ernie dealt with the ‘mother’—all with his wand. Never once did he actually touch the birth mother if he could avoid it. 

The caul and placenta were ripped free from inside the young man’s abdomen and dumped unceremoniously into a nearby pail. The transversal cut was mended. A number of potions were magicked into the man, and then Ernie levitated him and escorted him through a door at the back of the room. 

Curious, Harry went to look. It was another room, with more beds. Ten beds. Seven were currently occupied. Eight, when Ernie levitated the young man onto one of the beds and then left him there. All seven other occupants had flatter stomachs. Post-partum, he thought. These people had already delivered their babies. Six women and now two men. There were eight innocent little newborns. He wanted to see. 

He was in another room. It didn’t feel like the same floor, but he couldn’t be sure. Along the wall were two lines of basinets, twenty in total, almost identical to the other room with its rows of beds. He approached one of the basinets and looked inside. The baby was sleeping, swaddled in a pink blanket. He checked on the others. Four other little babies were wrapped up in pink nursery blankets. Only two were wrapped in blue blankets. 

There were cards attached to the end of each basinet. He leaned closer to try and read them—sex, weight, and length of the child was listed, along with date and time of birth, designation of the child, name of the bearer, and name of the sire. He recognized some of the names listed under the sire as death eater names—Yaxely, Crabbe, Avery, Carrow. Some he didn’t recognize—Haworth, Dagmouth, Plum. 

The woman, Eudora, entered with her young charge. She swished her wand at one of the basinets and the blank card filled itself out with the new information: Boy, 6 pounds 8 ounces, 47.5 centimeters. 21st January 2:24 am. Pureblood. Bearer: Entwhistle. Sire: Dolohov. 

The newborn was set gently into the basinet with a soothing word and a little caress. Before she was finished, another alarm charm sounded, causing her to flinch again. “Come along, Romkey,” Eudora called. “It looks like our busy night is to get busier.” 

He looked down at the tiny baby. He understood what this place was. He remembered Voldemort talking about it with his flunkies. A house where they sent their captives once they were impregnated. The room below—he appeared back in that room with the beds of sleeping men and women. Ernie was once again slicing open a mother’s belly and removing the amniotic sac—this was where they were taken and kept asleep throughout the pregnancy. 

What would happen to these people once they’d healed? He wondered… 

What would happen to the innocent babies? They hadn’t asked to be born, their mothers and bearers raped and forced to carry them. Who would care for the babies? It wasn’t right. They’d grow up without a mum or dad—because he didn’t think the death eaters who had happily raped and impregnate their captives would care about the products of their actions. All these little babies… no one to love or care for them. It wasn’t right. 

Even worse, they’d grow up in the care of the Dark Lord’s servants. That definitely didn’t seem right. Just by watching Ernie, he knew the fellow had no business around children—he’d even said so. Eudora might be all right, but it was hard to tell. She seemed so beaten down by Ernie. 

He had names now, though. Ernie and Eudora. He could remember that. He had to remember that. Ernie and Eudora. 

And Springbrook House. 

Harry woke up. 

** 

\- Thursday, January 29, Headmaster’s Office - 

“Sir,” Harry greeted sullenly as he entered the Headmaster’s office a week later. “Has there been any news?” 

He asked, not because he expected to hear an affirmation, but because at this point in the year it had become part of their routine. Once or twice a week, a letter would arrive at breakfast, inviting Harry to the headmaster’s office that afternoon or the next. Harry would then join the Headmaster in his office where they would enjoy a lovely tea and chat. They talked a little bit about everything, from personal to public affairs. 

From time to time, Harry would actually seek the old man out, especially after a particular dream-vision-nightmare. Especially if he thought he remembered something useful that could help the Order or the Ministry—like last week’s dream—that wasn’t a dream at all. He was getting a bit better at recognizing his visions for what they were. The better he got, the more he was able to remember from them when he woke up. Dumbledore wasn’t too happy about it, but Harry was desperate to provide something, anything, some small piece of information that could help. 

Like last week. When he’d awoke the next morning, he’d remembered there was a house. He’d remembered a room of babies, and a room of pregnant people. He’d gone to see the headmaster immediately, hoping against all hope that something he said might help others track down and locate this house. But without names or a more detailed location, it was nearly impossible to find. 

But today wasn’t one of those days. Instead, Dumbledore had invited Harry into his office this afternoon—for a chat. Harry often times wondered why the headmaster had chosen him to confide some of his inner musings to, why did the headmaster tell him all of the random bits and blats, the randomness that flitted into his head? Why did he even care to know Harry’s opinion on things? He didn’t know. 

How was Harry coping with his various inherited responsibilities? The prefects and all were doing a great job, school moral was mostly good. The students were learning and enjoying themselves. Plans for the Imbolic celebration were coming along well, thank you for approving it. 

On a more personal level? Well, they were still figuring things out amongst the pard, but it was all good there, too. No worries. Yes, it was true that there were now five members plus himself. No, he was not actively searching the student population for more. Yes, the girls had spoken to him about the possibility of forming a traditional circle, but he still wasn’t convinced. No, no one was going to let their school work suffer because of personal issues. In fact, if anything, some of their scores were bound to increase

What was the Ministry currently doing about their dark lord problem? Of course, they were still a little bit in denial that there was any large threat, although the Minister was a former auror and more than willing to strong arm his way into getting things done. Yes, they’d started fortifying their ranks, but the death eaters were a disease that had infected the body of the ministry for too long, and there were no concrete plans for treating the root of the disease. Just a lot of talk of plastering over the symptoms. 

How were the members of the Order fairing? What had they been up to since last Harry had seen them? Were they working on anything new and interesting? When was the next meeting? What was discussed at the last meeting? How did they like their new location? Was it working out well? No, it was for the best that they didn’t continue to use Grimauld Place regularly. 

And then, there was the inevitable perusal of Harry’s dreams. Had Harry had any other vision dreams since last week? Yes. Did he remember anything new about them? No. Not since last week. Was he remembering to clear his mind before he slept? Yes—he’d actually gotten a lot better at clearing his mind.

It was frustrating, though. No matter how Harry tried—whether through practicing what little occlumency he knew or falling asleep from pure exhaustion… The damn dreams seemed to be good for nothing. He just could never seem to remember the concrete details when he woke, which frustrated him to no end. He felt like if he could just remember more… he knew he knew all sorts of important details from within the dreams—the names of specific people, the death eaters who were tasked with running the different houses, the names of all the different houses… In his dreams, he knew what they were. He knew the names of all of the houses Voldemort used… But when he woke up, he could never remember where or what they were. 

If only he could remember and tell Dumbledore! Then they could get a team together and rescue the people in those houses! Arrest all the death eaters! Really put a dent in this terrorist war. 

All those people. Although his dreams were blurred when he woke, he still remembered the shapes and colors… the emotions. The emotions were the hardest. It wasn’t just the victims—the sad truth was, many of them seemed broken, disconnected. Their emotions were hollow, and Harry wondered, if when they were ever rescued, found and saved, would they be able to recover emotionally? 

Often times, in the dreams, the victims were deadened to him. But the death eaters? No, their emotions rubbed the strongest, were the hardest to deal with. Like the Death Eaters themselves. 

At first, in the beginning, the first several times they victimized a person, it was mostly all fear and disgust he picked up on… but all too soon, excitement raced between them, lust and satisfaction. The death eaters didn’t just torture those men and women because they were afraid of Voldemort. No, some were there because they actually liked it. For some, there was a righteous fire within them. They believed they had a right to treat other human beings as possessions, objects, a source of amusement. For others, it was just a job that they took pleasure from doing. Some just went through the motions as part of their routine—as mundane as getting ready for bed. 

That made Harry sick, because while he was there, stuck in his vision, he became attached like he was actually one of them. He was forced to experience that same sense of entitlement and satisfaction from using and abusing one of the kidnapped victims. He was an unwitting abuser, and he hated it. Other nights, few and infrequent, were the nights he attached to one of the victims. Those nights were hollow, empty, like he really was just an object being acted upon with no will of his own. 

He wasn’t sure what he would do if Neville, and Blaise, and Luna, and Hannah, and Hermione weren’t there to help him separate from those lingering emotions when he woke up. 

“We believe we might have found a possible location,” Dumbledore said slowly. Harry looked up sharply, anxiously. Did they really? They’d been searching for months! “Harry, you must promise me not to go rushing off on your own,” Dumbledore stressed. “The order is working with a select few from the ministry who we trust, but, as you can imagine, the situation is tenuous as best. If anything were to tip our hand too soon, our quarry might flee before the trap is properly set, and we would lose all ground we’ve spent these last months cumbersomely attaining. It is very important you let us handle this, Harry.” 

“I don’t even know where you’re looking at,” Harry pointed out. 

“Too right you are. We have our eyes on a property in Lincolnshire. That is the one we are focusing our attention onto for the moment, although there are a few others that we have in our sights for suspicious activity.” Dumbledore paused again, watching him closely, but he couldn’t help it. Harry was searching his memory furiously, looking for any hint of recognition to Lincolnshire. 

“My boy,” Dumbledore spoke, dragging Harry’s thoughts forward to the here and now. “It is not your responsibility, to find our missing students. That falls to me. I know you are finding it difficult to deal with their current status, but we will find them and bring them home.” 

Not doing anything rankled—no matter that he knew there really wasn’t anything he could do as just a student himself. It didn’t matter that he was the boy who lived. He didn’t have the experience or connections or even the basic knowledge to do more than muck up the field… but oh! How it raked down his raw nerves like salt in a wound. 

“What will be left of them, when you do find them?” Harry asked, mostly rhetorically, but also sincerely. “Most of them have shut down, emotionally, mentally,” he confessed. “I mean, even if they weren’t being drugged with potions and the what, I don’t think many of them are still all there.” 

“It is a coping method,” Dumbledore said like he had all the answers, nodding sagely. But Harry was begging to realize he didn’t always have all the answers, no matter how much he, Harry, might wish he did. “But remember, Harry, where there is life, there will always be hope. We will find our missing students, and the others, and we will bring them home and help them heal. That is all we can do.” 

Harry could only hope the Headmaster was right, but as January swiftly melded into February and word came back that the Lincolnshire target had been abandoned, Harry despaired. 

*****

\-- Saturday, January 31, Hogwarts – 

 

Imbolc was one of the Gaelic traditional festivals that somehow didn’t make it into the popularly acknowledged Roman Catholic cultural acclimation holidays, unlike Yule or Ostra, or Samhain, although some areas still celebrated it quietly as Candlemas or Groundhog’s Day. It was a festival for marking the middle of winter and the herald of spring—the recovery of the Goddess after giving birth to the God, the return of the light as the earth slowly wakens from its winter sleep. Not that you would really notice a break in the winter at the beginning of February in the highlands of Scotland. If anything, it seemed like winter was determined to keep her icy grip tightened upon the land. 

Still, as part of the push to honor their historical traditions, Hermione had researched everything she could find about Imbolc before approaching first Harry and then the rest of the prefects. 

“Well, really, Hermione, Beltane’s a bit more popular,” Ernie hesitated. “And fun.” 

“So we make it fun,” Hermione countered with determination. “It’s one of the four main seasonal festivals. Surely we can put our heads together and come up with some fun activities for everyone?” 

And so they had done their best. Starting from just before sundown of the 31st, as many of the students who wanted to gathered outside in the snow. The seventh and sixth years practiced their conjuring skills by creating bells, drums, and clappers which were passed out the masses. They drew pictures of spring time things in the snow—someone drew flowers, another person drew a family of bunnies, someone else drew the quidditch hoops, which sprouted a quick debate about whether or not quidditch could be constituted at a spring time activity… 

“Old man winter, it’s time to go!” Shouted one of first years. “Take with you these piles of snow!” 

And then the rest of the students started up a cacophony, banging on drums, ringing their bells, shooting of sparks with their wands as they chanted: “Melt, snow, melt! Spring will soon return!” 

Harry shot a fire bolt into the large pyre set up before calling out, “A flame, a fire, all the warmth it brings, melt the snow, cold be gone, welcome back the spring!” 

The students continued dancing and noise making, screaming and shouting and singing, “Melt the snow! Melt the snow! Soon the spring will be!” 

Draco grabbed one of the torches from the pyre and carried it aloft into the Great Hall where the rest of the staff and students were waiting to start the Imbolc Feast. All the students from outside following him in, chanting and merry making in a large troupe behind him as he presented the torch to Professor Burbage, the youngest female professor on staff. She smiled as she accepted the torch with great ceremony, using it to light the great fire in the great hall, which had been stuffed with different purifying herbs. Smoke immediately began to fill the air, and the students cheered again (some simply because the fire had finally been relit and they were cold!). 

Prefects helped pass out simple red, white, or green candles to any student who wanted one. After dinner, they could light their candle from the great hall’s hearth to bring back to their common rooms and dormitories. A few students tried to make some grumbling noises about the red and green coloration, but prefects were quick to point out it wasn’t House colors—the red was too cardinal for Gryffindor, the green to pine for Slytherin—but the colors of Imbolc: red for the virgin goddess Brigid, green for her fertility, and white for the snow. 

Bowls of snow were set out on the tables, and the food appeared—it wasn’t anything fancy, although the house elves made a few special items for the day ahead. 

“Someone put cabbage in the mash,” Ron exclaimed as he attempted to heap piles of potatoes onto his plate. 

“It’s only calcannon,” Hermione sniffed, buttering a slice of brambrack for herself. “Not like you weren’t going to eat some of the cabbage anyway, right?” she added, giving him one of those motherly looks that said he had better be planning to eat his greens. 

Neville, watching this, made sure to add another spoonful of brussels sprouts to his own plate… and then, for good measure, added another to a snickering Harry’s plate, too, so that when she turned back, Hermione would see them both with greens on their plate. No sense in inciting the head girl when she was already riled up and anxious about things going well this weekend!

As dinner ended, they all lifted their bowls of snow water and swished it around until the last bits of snow had melted. One of the second years down the table from them shouted out to Harry, “The snow has melted!” 

“Spring will return!” Harry shouted back. Around them, those who had been outside earlier took up their noisemakers and created a great noise, causing many to cringe and wince. A careful look up at the staff table revealed the shimmer of a noise barrier shield as the teachers all smiled indulgently down at the students. Well, all but one, but then, when did Severus Snape ever really smile, Harry thought uncharitably. 

Red and white ribbons festooned different areas of the castle, carrying hints of the festivities throughout the stone building. Classroom that were to house Imbolc activities that weekend had especially buoyant bows affixed to their doors to help students designate where to check out. One such room was filled with rushes gathered fresh that morning. They practiced braiding and weaving Brigid’s girdles, creating large hula-hoop like constructs that were then used for competitive games as bodies weaved in and out of the “girdles”. Some of the girls brought out their needlework and sat around the fires laughing and chatting as they worked on different projects together. 

Hagrid was perhaps the most popular—he’d set up a little petting zoo in one of the downstairs classrooms. He’d known a fellow who ran a farm—raised sheep and some other animals, too. With just a little bit of finagling, the COMC professor was able to borrow some ewes and their lambs, a cow and her calf, a couple of Ginny goats with their kids, and even some krup pups and kneazle kittens. Baby animals was a huge hit, and Hermione made sure to ask him about it for the spring festival. 

Neville and Professor Sprout were kind enough to open one of the green houses for anyone who wanted to come in and pot a couple of bulbs—daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, forsythia, crocus, and snowdrops being available. Several of the younger years took advantage of the school owls to send their pots home to their families. 

When the special activities came to a close at dinner time Sunday, the school atmosphere was lighter and gayer than it had been in weeks. Students were smiling and laughing as if the troubles of the outside world had been blasted from their memories. It was a good way to start a new month, Harry thought. 

***** 

Harry sent the pard off to their own beds in their own dormitories tonight—all except Blaise, who he sent up to the head’s suite with Hermione. He knew the Slytherin must be taking some slack from their peers for the arrangement… some continued to think the Italian was cuckolding him, others that he was cock holding him. Some thought there was a sordid ménage taking place nightly in the head’s rooms, others didn’t think much about it at all. Harry honestly preferred the latter, but since when did he ever get what he wanted? 

The truth of the matter was, it wasn’t safe for Blaise to continue returning to the Slytherin dorms. Not after it became openly known he’d sided with Harry and thus the “light side” of the war. Since about the second week after returning to Hogwarts, Blaise had stopped hiding their association. He became as affectionate in public as he was want to be in private, and he spent every night in the head’s room with Hermione and Harry. He knew the Slytherin was working with Hermione to try and explore her elemental gifts—he was grateful. And Blaise would talk him down from a nightmare or vision when Harry woke in a cold sweat, a litany of foreign words pouring from his lips in such a melodic tempo, Harry was hapless but to relax back into slumber. 

He walked Luna and Neville up to their towers before trailing back down through the lower floors, checking for students out of bed and up to mischief. It was a school night, but that didn’t matter to the truly determined. In fact, all the better for a practical joker. Luckily, Harry didn’t run into anybody but some prefects returning from their own hallway sweeps as he ventured further down into the dungeons. Even the kitchens were mostly quiet. He determined that he would finish up with the corridor outside the Slytherin common room before making his way back up to his own bed when he came abreast the dungeon bat himself. 

“Mr. Potter. Out late again, I see.” 

“Just doing some sweeps of the corridors, sir, making sure everyone’s safely away. Finished up the upper floors. Just sweeiping the dungeon’s now, and then I’m off to my own bed.” 

“Where I trust, Mr. Zabini is keeping it warm for you.” 

Harry wasn’t sure what it was about the man, but he rankled… more so than any of the animosity they’d annoyed previously. Ever since the beginning of this year… it wasn’t the same as before—hell, nothing was the same, but the tension… the sense of presence.. there was a need to seek out the man from time to time, to know where he was, what he was doing, if he was well or not.

But he was annoying, hateful, spiteful still. No love lost between them. He didn’t care if Snape was working with the Order, spying on Voldemort for the Order—he was still an ass. Sometimes he just wanted to hex his face off. 

“Or Hermione,” he answered—no point in hiding the truth they both already knew from him. “Or both. Kinda hopeful it’s both,” he added, tauntingly. After all, he had two nubile lovers waiting for him in his bed… how many had the potions professor? For a moment, Harry tried to envision the type of person that Severus Snape would invite into his bed. The moment passed quickly with a sharp pang of… jealousy? Anger? 

Snape’s lips pressed tighter. 

“I always know it’s going to be a long night when those two get together,” Harry pressed on. “Fun, but long.” 

Mixed signals, they hurt his head. There was a piece of him, he wanted to say it was small, that wanted to push the professor back against the stone walls of the dungeon and snog him senselessly. Wanted to take fistfuls of that lanky dark hair and see if it was really as oily as it looked, or if it was just super soft. Wanted to thrust his tongue down his throat as he forced his legs to spread and make room for Harry’s hips… 

And there was an equally as annoying voice, screaming at him “what the fuck?” over and over as it tried to point out that this was his professor, his greasy grimy hated potions professor with his yellow stained fingers, lanky form and crappy personality… 

“You are despicable, Potter,” Snape spat. “Professor Dumbledore may have decided to permit you your hedonistic ways, he was always overly indulgent with you, but do not mistake his leniency as sanction from the rest of staff. No matter who or what you are, do not mistake, this is a school for children, and you are still one of its students.” 

“Of course, Professor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think you have the dungeons well covered, so I’ll be heading back up to my rooms. A very pleasant rest of your evening to you. I know mine will be.” 

And Harry forced himself away before he could do anything he would regret… or not regret. Damn conflicting impulses. 

**** 

Hermione gave a heartfelt relieved exhale as she led the way back into their common room, the last of the festivities put away in time for tomorrow’s classes. Imbolc might not have been as fun as the Halloween feast or Yule party, but they had tried, at least, to break up the monotony of the winter. There would be some celebrating in two weeks for Valentine’s day, but she and Harry had both agreed not to attempt a large whole-school celebration—if couples wanted to celebrate that was their right, but the prefects would not be planning a special party or festivities for what she saw as a primarily commercial holiday. No, the next date they’d set their sights on was the spring equinox in March, and after that was Ostara, and May Day… and before you knew it, it would be June and they would be leaving. 

It was almost a little difficult to believe… it was just five months away, and they would all graduate Hogwarts. They would be free to do what they wanted with their lives… granted they knew what they wanted. 

Of course, Hermione would be a spot busier than others in five months, she thought ruefully, rubbing the small swell of her belly. It was definitely getting more rounded, taking on shape. Just yesterday she was thinking of how her pants were starting to dig too tightly into her waist line. She’d had to hike her school skirts’ waist up a bit and lengthen the hem. Really, she’d need to pick up some extra clothes before too long. 

Warm arms wrapped around her from behind and the rich hints of coffee filled her nostrils as hands settled over her own, covering her belly. “Well done, my beautiful lioness. Another wonderfully successful celebration.” He snuggled at her neck, pressing up against her back, cradling her. 

“Mmm, thank you,” she purred, practically melting back against him. Then she straightened and walked out of his arms. “But we’ve got classes in the morning. I trust you’ve already finished your homework, but do you know about the others?” 

“They’re fine, Hermione,” he cajoled, taking a seat on the sofa and watching her move about the room as if straightening or cleaning…. But there was nothing to straighten or clean. “You seem restless.” 

She said nothing, pushing in one of the chairs at the small table off to the side, resettling a Luna-painted flower pot planted with some crocus and hyacinth bulbs. 

“Come here, Hermione,” Blaise enticed. “Come sit with me? You’ve had a busy weekend, and it’ll be another busy week. Just sit back and relax for a few moments?” 

She flustered her hands, and frowning, Blaise got up and went to her again. “What’s wrong, beautiful queen of my heart? What has you so restless this evening? You should be on a high. The students enjoyed your little festival—that’s not something easy to do with such a bland holiday, most of the old families don’t even celebrate it anymore.” 

“I don’t know, I’m just… antsy, I guess. I want to do something, but I don’t know what. I hate this feeling.” 

“Would you like to go for a walk? Play one of the games you brought? Practice with your fire? Make wild, passionate love?” 

Hermione laughed. “Always with you.” 

“I can’t help finding you incredibly desirable.” 

“It’s in your nature, I guess.” 

“I would not have to be an incubus to find you desirable, Hermione,” Blaise insisted, nuzzling against her shoulder, hands sliding up the front of her robes, releasing the fastening. “Your body is as sexy as your mind—all voluptuous and curvy, hiding beneath your robes…” He slipped the robe off her shoulders and turned her around in his arms. “Your mouth, whether a smile or a frown… so sexy.” He kissed her lips, hands skimming down to her hips. “Your hips…. Your arse…” He squeezed and pulled her against him, burying his face against her hair. “Your hair, such a riotous mess, but so soft.” 

She smiled and shook her head, wrapping her arms loosely around his shoulders as he began to sway with her. 

“Amazing, beautiful, addicting, and crazy desirable,” he told her. 

“I think you might be a bit biased,” she replied, swaying agreeably as he lead. 

“Not at all. In fact, I happen to consider myself a very good judge of beauty and attractiveness, and I’m quite capable of being impartial.” He twirled them around, enticing her into laughter. “Can you still feel it?” he whispered against her ear. “That energy swirling inside you, dancing up and down your limbs, licking at your skin. Can you feel it?” 

“Yes,” she breathed. 

“Good. Feel it, guide it, coax it, straight into the palm of your hand.” He twirled them around the room once more, charming the balcony door open before swirling her out into the open air, face out over the grounds and lake. “Feel it, Hermione… and let it burn.” 

He stepped back just as the first flames began to lick up around her. Within minutes, she was flickering like a human torch. “Concentrate, Hermione,” he coached. “Feed that feeling into the palm of your hand, condense it in other areas and guide that feeling straight down your arm and out of your palm. That’s it, start at your feet, calm it, but don’t smoother the flame. Lovely, Hermione, now your legs—your lovely, shapely legs, that’s it, calm the flame and guide it up, up, up to your arms and out of your hands.” 

It took almost another five minutes, but eventually Hermione was standing there on the balcony, palms held up as two pillars of flame danced merrily in her hands. 

“You are magnificent,” Blaise breathed. Hermione was too wrapped up in her power to hear him. “Like the goddess Brigid, herself, made flesh before us. Goddess of light, of intelligence, your fire is the spark of life. You glow with the fertility of the land, reborn anew as spring. And as the land ripens, so, too, do you. Feed us with your bounty, feed our souls with your sweet inspiration, and succor us with your healing touch when we are weary and wounded. For Beloved is she, the mother of all things, the queen of all worlds.” 

“You do have a way with words,” Harry said softly, coming up behind him, eyes all for Hermione. “How she doing?” 

“Just fine,” Blaise answered. “She was feeling a bit antsy, so I thought it might be time to help her release some pressure, as it were.” 

Harry shot him an amused look. “She shot you down for sex?” 

Blaise smiled back, good naturedly. “That’s still on the table, I hope. We were just waiting for your return. The others?” 

“Everyone’s safely back in their houses,” he added. “And I made sure to do an extra sweep of the corridors before coming back. Ran into Snape in the dungeons, surprise, surprise.” 

“Indeed.” 

“He asked after you.” 

Blaise did look somewhat surprised at that. 

“You’re still one of his, you know,” Harry found himself defending the professor. “He’s always been protective of his snakes, everyone knows that.” 

“Maybe in public,” Blaise responded. “Away from the eyes of the rest of the school, he was always quite strict. He wouldn’t take points, because that would show others something had happened… but you would get a lecture or sometimes a detention or an assigned essay…” Blaise shivered. “Those were the absolute worst. Depending on your infraction and intelligence, they ranged anywhere from copying pages from the dictionary, to summarizing different works of some warlord or philosopher, or worse: a complete analysis of what it was you did, why you chose to do it, what were the consequences of said choices, what are three other preferable choices you could have made, what were the possible consequences of those choices, and why didn’t you decide to follow through with one of the other choices… And ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I didn’t think of it’ weren’t valid responses, either.” 

It suddenly got a lot darker, and Harry and Blaise turned back to Hermione, slumped and panting. “Hey,” Harry cooed, catching her up in his arms—apparently with good timing, too, because as soon as he had his arms around her, she went limp against him. “Omphf! Oi, Hermione, don’t conk out on us already, the night’s still young,” he tried to cajole her. 

“That was nice,” she murmured sleepily against his shoulder. 

“Maybe a little too much,” Blaise sighed. “Should have stopped her a few minutes ago.” He scooted to her other side and brushed the hair from her face. “I think our fire goddess is ready for bed.” 

“I guess sex is off the table after all,” Harry teased. 

Blaise shrugged. “Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t.” He shot Harry a look. “Besides, you’re still awake.” 

They both took care tucking Hermione safely into her bed and wishing her a good night before retiring to the head boy’s room. It wasn’t too much later before they also yielded to sleep. 

 

Tbc….. 

 

Still to come: 

\- an unexpected heat  
\- February Birthdays and inheritances   
\- School concerns  
\- Visions, dreams, and occlumency  
\- Horcruxes... or not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very Christmas-y chapter. Depending on how a few of the future chapters go this may change, but I've put a guestimated total chapter count up, now. We are approaching the end, as I see it.


	37. Sexual Healing, a Frisky February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February turned out to be more exhausting than the pard originally planned for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific chapter warnings: magical creature heat cycle, beasti/anthro, double pen, male self-lubricating, mpreg, magical inheritance, sex talk, sexual exhaustion, contraception-interference, I'm sure there's others...

Chapter 37: Sexual Healing, a Frisky February

~THEN~

 

“Mr. Potter. Out late again, I see.”

He paused and turned back to look at the swooping professor. “Just doing some sweeps of the corridors, sir, making sure everyone’s safely away. Finished up the upper floors. Just sweeping the dungeons now, and then I’m off to my own bed.”

“Where I trust, Mr. Zabini is keeping it warm for you.”

Harry wasn’t sure what it was about the man, but he rankled along Harry’s nerves… more so than any of the previous animosity they’d shared. Ever since the beginning of this year… it wasn’t the same as before—hell, nothing was the same, but the tension… the sense of presence... Harry would have an unsettling need to seek out the man from time to time, to know where he was, what he was doing, if he was well or not.

But Snape was still annoying, hateful, spiteful. No love lost between them. Harry didn’t care if Snape was working with the Order, spying on Voldemort for the Order—he was still an ass. Sometimes he just wanted to hex his face off.

“Or Hermione,” he answered—no point in hiding the truth they both already knew from him. “Or both. Kinda hopeful it’s both,” he added, tauntingly. After all, he had two nubile lovers waiting for him in his bed… how many had the potions professor? For a moment, Harry tried to envision the type of person that Severus Snape would invite into his bed. The moment passed quickly with a sharp pang of… jealousy? Anger?

Snape’s lips pressed tighter.

“I always know it’s going to be a long night when those two get together,” Harry pressed on. “Fun, but long.”

Mixed signals, they hurt his head. There was a piece of him, he wanted to say it was small, that wanted to push the professor back against the stone walls of the dungeon and snog him senselessly. Wanted to take fistfuls of that lanky dark hair and see if it was really as oily as it looked, or if it was just super soft. Wanted to thrust his tongue down his throat as he forced his legs to spread and make room for Harry’s hips…

And there was an equally as annoying voice, screaming at him “what the fuck?” over and over as it tried to point out that this was his professor, his greasy grimy hated potions professor with his yellow stained fingers, lanky form and crappy personality…

“You are despicable, Potter,” Snape spat. “Professor Dumbledore may have decided to permit you your hedonistic ways, he was always overly indulgent with you, but do not mistake his leniency as sanction from the rest of staff. No matter who or what you are, do not mistake, this is a school for children, and you are still one of its students.”

“Of course, Professor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think you have the dungeons well covered, so I’ll be heading back up to my rooms. A very pleasant rest of your evening to you. I know mine will be.”

And Harry forced himself away before he could do anything he would regret… or not regret. Damn conflicting impulses.

****

 

~NOW~  
\- Wednesday, February 11, Hogwarts –

Neville came out of the shower, free of all the dirt and fertilizer he’d been spreading around for the last few hours. He loved being given permission to work unhampered in the Hogwarts greenhouses—Professor Sprout knew he had a natural affinity for the plants and they an affection for him, and because of that, she had given him pretty much carte blanche to do what he willed in the various greenhouses, as long as he respected the safety of others and her curriculum plans for the school.

This year, he’d taken that freedom and spread.

He loved it, being able to relax and flex his unique powers, explore his special talents, learn what he was capable of. He was not one hundred percent sure, but he was pretty sure, that he’d even created a few new cross species of flora. If the plants continued to thrive outside his care and pollenate, then he would know. Sprout was eagerly watching his experiments, he knew.

But for today, he was done, and a nice hot shower was needed to help loosen shoulders and relax. That he chose to use the head boy’s personal facilitates was no accident. Harry had seemed to be avoiding him the last couple of days, and he hoped to confront his mate and discover why. He hadn’t noticed at first—with the attentions of Luna and Hannah and Blaise to distract him—but he definitely noticed this morning when they woke alone in the bed and Harry didn’t pin him to the mattress for a pre-breakfast snack.

It wasn’t like the vanteera to pass up an opportune fuck, and it left Neville feeling hollowed out and empty inside. Needy. That’s what he felt—needy. He wanted to be fucked, needed to be filled. He loved playing with the others, but the girls distinctly lacked the natural endowments he appreciated most. And Blaise’s preferences were more strongly aligned with receiving pleasure, even when he was delivering; as a result, it was more likely he’d be found sucking and swallowing down Neville’s cock as opposed to bottoming out inside him. And that’s what Neville wanted right now. What he needed.

He needed a big, thick cock stretching him open, forcing its way into his body, and pumping into him, spilling its seed inside him. Stars, he wanted that so badly. And he was determined to have it, tonight.

He cursorily dried himself off and then went to lie down on the bed. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of posing for when Harry entered, but in reality, he ended up falling asleep.

*

Harry was on edge, senses trigger happy and ready to snap. It made helping out in the study rooms more a hindrance than an actual aid, and he ended up excusing himself earlier than he’d intended. The Imbolc festivities of the weekend before had gone over well with most of the populace. They were already asking if there would be another festival celebration for the Easter holidays, although that was still two whole months away. Harry was glad all the different activities and programs he and Hermione had tried to set up were being so well received, but he really hoped he would be able to hand off the majority of the responsibility of organizing and running them to some of the sixth-year prefects. Especially by April, since most of the fifth and seventh years would already be beginning their mad descent into pre-exam hell. This weekend’s mini-celebration of Valentine’s Day would be their first attempt since Harry had caved into the younger years’ whining and moping that nothing special was being done for the commercial holiday. He had gone to Dumbledore for permission for some of the Hogsmeade vendors to visit and for the prefects to run a few games and activities. He’d gotten it, but he’d warned the other prefects that he and Hermione were staying strictly out of it—it would be on them to plan and execute some activities.

None of which helped him right now.

He was antsy, not able to sit still or stay in one place for very long. He’d popped his head into the various study rooms—all was good there. He’d checked in with his girls. They were perfectly fine. He had visited the headmaster, sucked on a lemon drop for all of ten minutes before he was ready to move on—not that Dumbledore was ready to relinquish him, of course. He’d ended up losing a good three quarters hour to the headmaster’s office. He’d had a run in with the potions’ master along one of the hallways that stretched between the dungeons and the Infirmary. No doubt Snape was delivering more potions to Madame Pomphrey as the mediwitch dealt with a rampant persistent case of the sniffles.

For a moment, Harry seriously thought Snape had tensed up when he spotted him in the corridor—was it his imagination, or had the professor stilled for just the barest moment, as if hesitating to continue forward. Snape had been doing that more often, Harry noticed, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think what he might had done to the older man. It pricked his interests, and he considered—for all of a moment—possibly confronting the potions professor over his unusual behavior.

But, no. That wasn’t the itch he was feeling. The perpetual scratch, demanding attention… but for what?

Growling, Harry turned back up towards the head suite. He was obviously in no mood to be company for anyone. At least if he holed himself up in his rooms, no one else would have to deal with his crappy attitude. He was tempted to bang doors behind him, but resisted for the simple reason he knew it wouldn’t satisfy his irritation.

Stomping into his bedroom, he came up short at the image displayed for him. Neville must have come up here after his work in the greenhouses, he realized. The dark brown hair was still slightly damp and curled, just a bit, around his head. He lied stretched across the bed, face buried into a pillow, arms curled up around it—back stretched long and wide, trailing down, down, down to the swell of his buttock. One leg was slightly raised, and Harry could just make out the shadowy outlines of Neville’s endowments. Lust crashed over him like a stormy wave.

This morning he had thought it mildly odd that he hadn’t been tempted by his first male mate at all. He’d left the bed with little more than a careless peck of a kiss before heading off to start his day. Was that why he’d been feeling anxious all day? No matter. It was an easy fix. And with Neville all laid out like an offering on his bed… Harry was quite willing to accept.

The Vanteera male quickly divested his robes and underthings before crawling onto the bed and sprawling over top Neville. The nymph made a mumbled little murmur, shifting just slightly beneath the new weight before settling back again.

That wasn’t good enough. Harry wanted his nymph awake, eager and begging beneath him. He rocked his hips into Neville’s, pressing his already swollen cock against the other boy’s arse, already anticipating the tight squeeze that would embrace him when he entered him. He trailed his lips up over Neville’s shoulder, lightly licking several patches of skin before grazing his teeth against him.

It wasn’t enough.

His teeth ached, and before he realized what he was going to do, Harry had sunk his canines into the round of Neville’s shoulder.

Neville came awake with a startled cry, finding himself trapped under another body’s weight and a fiery piercing pain in his right shoulder. He tried to dislodge the weight, only to be met with a fierce growl that froze his efforts. Panting, Neville tried to interpret what was happening, but his mind was sleep-muddled and there was a deep-belly fire filling him up, originating from that ball of achy need he’d suffered with all morning and afternoon long.

He shifted again beneath Harry—for that’s who it was had him pinned, he realized. He shifted not to get away but to better accommodate the vanteera pressing down into him, smothering him against the bedding as he worried at Neville’s already abused shoulder. Neville turned his face back into the pillow and released another smothered yell, wincing and tearing up as he fought himself not to fight against Harry’s hold on him.

Darkened nails, elongating like talons curled around his arms, and a flutter of sound and movement from the corner of his eye was all the hints Neville needed to know Harry had shifted into his hybrid form. A needy whimper crawled out of his throat as the weight above him seemed to increase.

Neville was wet, slick slipping from his hole as wantonly as any of the girls or Blaise when they were needy. He squirmed, feeling the slimy slickness slipping down over his balls and dick. Harry’s cock slid easily between his cheeks, pressing with each undulation of his hips, but it wasn’t the right angle for what he needed, what he wanted so badly.

With a herculean effort, Neville forced himself and Harry atop him up onto their knees. Harry’s fangs pulled clear of Neville’s shoulder as the vanteera let out a furious hiss, but Neville kept right on, canting his hips back, knees spread wide, in clear invitation.

Growling in displeasure at being forcibly removed from his claiming mark, Harry was quickly distracted by the sweet scent originating from Neville’s surprisingly slick hole. He buried his face against the winking bud, accidently catching a fang against the tender skin. Neville yelped, and then moaned not even a minute later as Harry starting lapping as the glistening slick, licking it up and tracing it back to its origins, shoving his tongue as deeply as possible into Neville’s body in an effort to collect the sweet lubricant.

A litany of pleas and curses fell from Neville’s lips as he threw his head back and forth, fighting to stay still as Harry continued to eat him out, desperately wanting the vanteera to continue. Equally desperate to have the beast mount him and fuck him already. He wanted that cock to spear him, fill him up and own him. But Harry wasn’t going to move until he was good and ready.

It could have been hours later, but likely was only minutes, when the vanteera did rear back, face smeared with glistening slick. As much as he managed to lick up and consume, Neville seemed to produce twice as much, and still the slick dribbled at of the nymph’s bum hole as Harry watched, taunting him. Growling, Harry grabbed his cock and smeared the head through a trailing stream of slick. All ready his member was thickening beyond normal, small bumps forming below the shaft, and he knew he had to be inside his mate. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Lining his cock head up with Neville’s entrance—angry red and demandingly kissing at the air, until Harry gave it his cock to suck on instead, and then that greedy little orifice tried to suck him right in without any effort on Harry’s part. He grinned toothily for what he knew would be a successful breeding and clutched at his mate’s hips, unmindful of the pricks of his talons that drew blood as he jerked the nymph back onto his cock even as he thrust forward, fully impaling his mate.

Harry threw his head back and roared. Neville released his own scream, frantically trying to push back onto Harry, as if to get even more of Harry’s cock inside of him. The vanteera was more than willing to oblige. The tingle of his barbs extending was nothing compared to the heady rush as the spine shot forth, shortly followed by the hot rush of semen.

Neville was a squirming mess beneath him, writhing and moaning, constantly pushing back at him, crying out for more. When the spine and barbs finally withdrew, Harry was quick to roll Neville onto his back, hoist his leg over his shoulder, and enter his mate again. Within a matter of minutes, he had successfully dumped another load of cum into his mate’s receptive hole, but the nymph was still not appeased.

It took over two hours to slake the nymph’s need, and even Harry’s vanteera abilities were about tapped out.

“Is that going to happen again?” Harry mumbled, sprawled out in a boneless heap across the bed, un caring of where Neville was, and already on his way past half asleep.

Neville was honest to goodness purring with his satisfaction as he stretched out his achy limbs. “Possibly. Not again for another five or six hours though. Need sleep first,” he confessed carelessly.

That caught Harry’s attention, snatched it right back away from la-la land. “What? Really?”

“Mmm. Probably another two cycles,” Neville responded happily, nuzzling his pillow.

“Shit, I don’t know if I can do that all on my own again,” Harry huffed. “I feel like jelly now.”

“Felt so good, Harry,” Neville mumbled, his voice thickly sleep-blurred. “I love how your cock fills me up so perfectly, so thick—big and long, and I love it. Could feel your cum filling me up, shooting so deep inside me, it was so good,” he moaned. “I just know you’re going to knock me up. Not yet, but soon. Maybe when I wake up. We will fuck again.” And Neville drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on his face.

Groaning for a whole other reason now, Harry forced his tired body back out of the bed and dragged his carcass over to the door. No one had intruded earlier, but with any luck, someone was in the pard’s common room.

Luck was with him. Hermione was reading and rocking away in the new armchair Blaise had brought back with them from Italy. Hermione had fallen in love with the piece, and Blaise had happily seen she had it—it was the moment Harry had known for sure that the dark-skinned male was one of them. Speaking of which, Blaise was stretched out on the sofa, lazily reading his own book. He saw Harry first.

“Hey,” Blaise greeted with that little smile of his. “You two finished in there, finally?” He lowered his book to see Harry’s face, studying him, looking for what, Harry wasn’t sure, but that was a habit Blaise had—studying the people around him. “Luna made us promise not to go in without your permission and invitation.”

“Yeah,” Harry huffed, rubbing at his neck, “Well, it seems Neville went into heat this afternoon.”

“Oh! I wondered if that might be it,” Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide as she stared at him. “Are you both all right? Is he resting now?”

“Yeah,” Harry mewed, and he shuffled over towards Blaise’s end of the sofa and collapsed. “Apparently he’s going to get all randy again in another four to five hours.”

“Oh, that’s because he’s not pregnant, and of course he knows,” Hermione mumbled to herself, earning questioning looks from the other two boys. “Neville’s a nymph, so I did some light reading on nymph behaviors and customs a while back—Neville actually leant me the book, so I know it must be rather reliable, but of course, each situation is always a little different, aligned to the individual.”

“And what did you find out?” Harry refocused her, well used to Hermione’s rambling tangents.

“A nymph’s heat cycle is typically thirty-six to seventy-two hours, with four to five active breeding periods that can last up to four hours each. If he doesn’t get—well, that is to say, if he doesn’t conceive in the next three days, that will be it until the next time his heat period comes around.”

“You should probably be resting,” Blaise teased. “It sounds like our green man is going to have you busy servicing him all night long!”

“You should help me,” Harry said, desperately. “It’s crazy to think of doing it all myself…. You should come with me.”

“What? You would want a slinky Slytherin there to slither on in and help satiate the beast….” Blaise teased. “I don’t know. It sounded like he’s quite needy and demanding.”

Harry clutched at the back of Blaise’s head, fingers sliding through the thick black hair and gently pulling his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. “You all should be there,” Harry purred. “Neville is our own, and we should all be there to help him.”

“Well, if that’s permission and an invitation…?”

“It is. You, too, Hermione. You should be there helping Neville, too.”

Hermione frowned, nodding absently. “If he’s resting now, and probably will be for another few hours, you should be resting, too. It’s said that both the incubus and the nymph can physically love somebody to death. Go, get some sleep, and I’ll ask Winky or Dobby to make you up a tray for when you wake up. Something light and nourishing, finger food. I’ll find the others and let them know you’ve asked for us all to be here.”

“Thanks, Hermione. You’re the best.”

“I know, now go.”

“Want to join me?” he asked Blaise, not moving off the sofa just yet.

“It’s not so early as to turn in just yet,” Blaise mused, looking at the book he was reading before tossing it on the little table. “Oh well. Early to bed, early to rise,” he quipped, taking Harry’s hand and helping the other boy up. “Let’s get you to bed, and we can sleep. Then, when you wake, we will fuck like rabid rabbits. It will be fun.”

***

True to his prediction, when Neville woke a few hours later, they had just enough time to nibble and nosh a bit on the tray one of the elves had left for them before the nymph turned into a demanding nymphomaniac again. They took turns servicing the nymph until he once again fell asleep, just shortly before it would have been time to get up for breakfast.

Since it was a Thursday, they all had a mostly fully schedule. Unfortunately, they’d all had little to no sleep, and Neville couldn’t be left alone while he was still going through his heat. It was Luna and Hannah who crawled out of bed first. As the only sixth year, Luna had her own classes to attend. At least all the others shared the same first two periods.

Hannah headed off to DADA powered on pepper up potions. She made excuses for Harry, Hermione, Blaise, and Neville—explaining that the three had taken a cold—and although she managed to copy down the notes and homework assignment (thanks mostly to Susan who made copies of her notes and the directions for the homework), she had no clue of what happened in class that day. Blaise managed to join her for Charms the second period, but she was existing on fumes. If any of the ‘Puffs gave him dirty looks for sitting down next to one of their own without the other pard members there, they didn’t say anything with Susan right there glaring back at them. The Slytherin’s were too busy quietly shunning Blaise to comment—not like he cared. Really, if he had anyone to be worried about, it would have been the Gryffindors who might have taken offense to him possibly encroaching on Neville’s girlfriend. Luckily for him, they were too engrossed in their own matters to pay any attention to him or Hannah.

He had managed to catch an extra two hours of sleep, and although it wasn’t enough, it was more than Hannah had had. He watched her worriedly as her head continually drooped.

“Sir,” he called out when Professor Flitwick was close by. “I don’t think Ms. Abbott is feeling very well.”

“Oh, dear!” the tiny professor cried. “It must be the flu that’s going around. I see Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Longbottom are missing today, too.”

“Oh!” Hannah picked up, remembering she was supposed to make their excuses. “They’ve all taken a cold and are resting—“

“As you should be, young lady,” Professor Flitwick interjected. “Mr. Zabini, might I impose upon you to help Ms. Abbott up to the Hospital Wing. A bit of Pepper Up and some sleep will help knock that flu right out of you!”

“Of course, sir,” Blaise replied, gathering both his and Hannah’s things. Some of the Slytherins looked on in mild amusement—let them think he was making moves on the Hufflepuff girl, never mind that they all thought he was double dipping with the head boy and head girl. It didn’t matter than he’d always made it a point never to move on another person’s boyfriend or girlfriend before and everyone knew that Hannah Abbott was ‘dating’ Neville Longbottom, everyone knew Harry and Hermione were dating, and everyone thought they knew Blaise was dating Luna. Because, to a certain extent, it was true, he supposed. And, again, he really didn’t care what the rest of the school thought about his sleeping escapades. Before the end of summer he was sure the whole damn island would know they were all Harry Potter’s lovers. In the meantime, he got to enjoy interacting with his pard mates outside of the Head Boy’s and Head Girl’s rooms.

And, to be completely honest, he was tired, himself.

“Why did you do that?” Hannah groused as they moved through the empty hallways.

“You’re exhausted,” he pointed out. “You need to get some more rest, and this way, you’ll also be there when Neville wakes up again, if he hasn’t already.”

“That won’t necessarily mean sleep.”

“No, but now you have an excuse to skip next period, and you get to spend that time in a bed,” he pointed out. “I can’t skip out of Arithmancy or Runes, otherwise I would have pled off, too,” he continued. “You have Muggle Studies next, right? So you can easily make that up. It’s bad enough that Hermione’s missing out today, but at least she’s already the top student in class. If I miss arithmancy or runes, I’ll fall behind horribly. Now, try and rest some, all right?” he said, escorting her in through the Head Boy’s door.

Hannah didn’t even remember arriving at the apartments or entering. Hermione, Harry, and Neville were fast asleep. Blaise walked her right up to the bed and laid her down. “Just a little nap.”

“Just a little nap,” Hannah muttered, but she was already gone.

Sighing wearily, Blaise made his way over to the Hospital Wing, explained that he’d escorted Hannah out of class, but that she’d insisted on just going to bed, and then he accepted the Pepper Up potion the medi-witch poured down his throat. He wasn’t anymore sick that the others, but he was definitely feeling the exhaustion of lack of sleep the night before. He wasn’t sure how he made it through lunch and his afternoon classes, but he did.

Blaise made it through Arthimancy and Runes before returning to the suite, stripping on auto-pilot, and crawling right into the orgy that was in process.

Luna returned to the rooms last with a tray filled with various finger foods. She set it down on the table and dropped her book bag nearby before heading into the head boy’s room to check on the others. The girls were slumped over, passed out across the bed—Hermione’s curls were a riot spilled over a pillow, arms akimbo, Hannah curled up beside her, legs spread and still glittering with someone else’s release. Blaise was clutching Neville’s head, curled around the nymph as he attempted to suck the very essence out of the incubus.

Blaise’s head whipped back with a strangled cry. “Oh, gods, please, make him go,” he begged, hips frantically pumping away at Neville’s face.

Behind the nymph, Harry in his hybrid from was gripping Neville’s hips and focused on furiously fucking, feeding the greedy creature more semen. It was the only thing that seemed to satisfy the nymph for any length of time. The girls might distract him for a bit—serve as a bit of a respite for the boys—but it was the boys’ attention Neville had craved and needed the most.

Luna crossed over to the bed, unrushed, watching as Harry and Blaise tried desperately to slake Neville’s need. It wouldn’t be enough. The nymph’s body was trying desperately to conceive. Unfortunately, the potion Neville had asked her and Hermione to brew for him nearly two weeks ago was still working to prevent that very thing from happening—just barely still working. His body didn’t know or understand that, though. It would continue attempting to get pregnant for another day’s length…

He had had good intentions when he requested the potion. It was true they were in dangerous times. It was true they were still a small pard and two of their numbers were already inconvenienced. It was not an opportune time to fall pregnant—not when the rest of the school thought he was exclusively with Hannah. Not when it would raise uncomfortable questions and scrutiny. If the ministry found out, they would try to stick their snoopy nose into the pard’s business, and they didn’t need that attention. Not with Voldemort and his forces already out there focused somewhat on them because of Harry. It wasn’t safe for Harry.

That had been the leading argument he had used when he’d asked for their help in brewing the potion. If Neville got pregnant, it wouldn’t be safe for Harry. Neville thought he wouldn’t be able to back up and support Harry if he was inconvenienced with a pregnancy. And to some extents, that was true. But it also wasn’t.

Luna reached out, one slim pale hand smoothing over the arched bend of Neville’s back as his hips opened demandingly back towards Harry. She sent a trickle of awareness down into the boy’s body and could sense it almost immediately—the warring presence of two magics: nature versus constructed. Nature was slowly but surely burning through the unnatural barrier the construct had erected. Within another cycle, maybe two, the potion would have burned away completely under the demanding influence of nature.

Indecisive for only a moment—a look towards Hermione and Hannah passed out, towards Harry and Blaise who were on the verge of passing out themselves, energy depleted—she made her decision. Raising her other hand up towards Neville’s belly, sandwiching him between her palms, she released a little pulse of natural magic.

Blaise cried out again, a moaning cry torn from him as he spilled his release into Neville’s relentless mouth and collapsed back onto the bed, narrowly missing crashing into Hermione’s outstretched arm. Neville hummed, before rearing back and pushing himself more demandingly onto Harry’s cock.

“That’s it,” Harry encouraged. “Fuck yourself, Neville. Convince my cock it wants to fill you up. You can do it, come on. Look how well you sucked Blaise off. Certainly your greedy little ass could suck me off just as good.”

Neville whimpered, bouncing back and wiggling pleadingly. “Please Harry,” he gasped. “Do it. Fuck me harder than ever. Fill me up. C’mon, Harry. You can do it. Knock me up, cum in me. Fill me up with all your cum until I’m bursting. Want it. Want it so bad, Harry, please.”

“I am, I am,” he promised in a slew of non-sensical words, anything to appease the other boy. “Can’t you feel it? I’m already locked in, Neville. I’m going to shoot my cum so deep inside you, it’s going to have no choice but to breed you. Promise, Neville. We’re going to knock you up, and you’ll have so many babies.”

“Gods, yes!” Neville shouted, falling forward once more.

“Fill you up with cum and babies,” Harry gasped.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Neville chanted, face smushed into the sweaty bedsheets.

Luna went over to check on Hermione and Hannah, ignoring the boys for a moment. Humming a little ditty to herself, she collected first one and then the other girl and transferred them over to Hermione’s bed where the room was cool and didn’t reek of male sex and the bed sheets were clean. She left Hermione and Hannah resting between the clean sheets and then went back to check on the boys.

Harry was still sweet-talking Neville’s nymph. Blaise was watching with blurry eyes. She rested her cool hand against his face, seizing his attention. “You will have your chance, too,” she told him, trying to sooth the hint of jealousy she could see in his gaze. “We all will.”

“He is magnificent like this,” Blaise rasped. “I will not get to experience this for many months yet. Perhaps years.”

“I’m sure if you ask, he will attempt to breed you sooner,” Luna reassured. “He is learning more and gaining better control of his vanteera self every day. You were not here, so you don’t know—even short speak was difficult for Harry when he first transformed. The night he bred Hermione? Now listen to him.”

“Fuck so good,” Harry was growling. “Take my cock and spine like a pro. Take it so deep. I’m going to spray your insides with cum, paint your womb with cum, fill you up with so much cum you’ll be leaking it for days.”

“No!” Neville whimpered. “Can’t lose it! Need it! Need it in me, Harry, please! Fill me up with more cum!”

“You should join them,” Luna suggested.

“Harry’s almost done,” Blaise protested. “If Neville’s not finished after this, he’ll need me to step up again. He woke up a bit ago, so we should be winding down towards the end of this cycle. Then we all can get another couple of solid hours of rest before having to do it again.”

“Join them,” Luna repeated. “You should try taking him both at the same time.”

Blaise’s dick twitched at the idea. “He’s probably plenty stretched out by now,” he mused, more to himself than her.

“Imagine your cock and Harry’s filling him up at the same time. Your cock sliding up against Harry’s, squeezed tightly inside Neville…”

The incubus was already crawling forward, salivating. He tried curling up behind Harry, but the vanteera snapped at him.

“Harry,” Luna called, snaring the cat’s attention. “Let Blaise in, in front of you,” she suggested. “That way you both can fuck Neville.”

“Oh! Yes, please!” the nymph shouted his support of the idea. “Oh, gods, yes! Both of you! Inside me! Please, please, please…”

Harry pulled back carefully, his elongated member with the barbed bumps along the bottom and a thin, quill-like spine withdrew, allowing the incubus to slide in front of him even as Neville cried out at the loss and lack of something filling his empty hole. Harry’s clawed hands immediately latched onto Blaise’s hips as his lips and teeth grazed along his neck and shoulder.

“Mmm, going to help me enter him?” Blaise purred, reaching for one of those clawed hands and bringing it back towards his reanimated cock. Neville’s hole was red and stretched from the hours upon hours of constant abuse, but the slick his heat naturally produced hadn’t eased up at all, still shining and glistening in the low light of the room.

Neville’s hole swallowed him right down to the quick, engulfing him in molten heat and causing Blaise to throw his head back with a surprised shout.

Moments later, Harry was pressing up snug behind him. The thin slide of the penile spine slid up along Blaise’s shaft, causing him to shiver before he felt Harry’s cock head pushing in against him. He whimpered. Beneath them, Neville whined and begged for more, harder and deeper. And then he cried out as he felt it two—two fully erect cocks filling him up, stretching him impossibly wide, and the barbs that ran along the length of Harry’s penis dug in more deeply than ever before.

“Oh, fuck,” Blaise groaned. “Do you feel that Neville? That’s me and Harry, our two cocks both inside you. Doesn’t it feel good to be stretched around two cocks?”

“Yes, yes! Please cum in me! Need to feel it!”

“Yes,” Harry purred, one hand still on Blaise’s hip but the other back on Neville’s. His hand slipped past Blaise and onto Neville’s, gripping tightly and pulling the nymph back against them even as he thrust forward, capturing Blaise between them. Blaise moaned, hips and pelvis helplessly undulating between their two hard bodies.

“Oh, gods,” the darker skinned boy panting. “It’s like you’re fucking us both!” He squirmed some more and Neville let out a needy sound.

“Cum in me, please, cum in me. Fill me up with your cum. I need it. I need you to fill me up.”

“Yes, we’re going to, aren’t we Blaise?” Harry promised, continuing to hump the two boys until they really were reduced to mumbled pleas and grunts. When Neville’s knees and arms gave out, they collapsed onto the bed like a pile of pancakes. Harry pulled back a little then, earning a mutter of protest from both of his mates.

“Cum for us, Blaise,” Harry ordered, and with a shout, the incubus did. At the first trickle of cum splashing against his insides again, Neville let out a long moan, his body convulsing. Harry gave a few more frantic thrusts, and then he gave over to his own release as well, rewarded by Neville’s excited little grunts and noises as his body greedily soaked up the spilled semen.

It was several minutes later when the door snitched open and Luna returned. All three boys were blessedly passed out.

“Winky,” the blonde Ravenclaw called, pulling her wand free from her hair bun.

“Yes, Missy Looney?”

“Could you help me clean off the boys and put new sheets on the bed?” Luna requested, already waving her wand over the boys to cast the few personal cleaning charms she was good enough at.

“Of course, Missy Looney,” the elf replied as, with a snap of her fingers, the sweaty and stained sheets disappeared and fresh, clean sheets reappeared on the bed. “Is there being anything else you’s be needing?”

“Would it be possible to have some restorative potions brought up for the others?” Luna wondered. “Or would we need to visit with Madame Pomphrey for those?”

The house elf’s ears drooped. “Medicine witch watches her potions carefully,” Winky shared.

“That’s okay. Thank you, Winky. I’m sorry to disturb your work.”

“That’s being quite all right, Missy Looney,” Winky assured the young witch. “Winky being always willing to help Missy Hermione and her friends.”

And with that, the elf was gone. Luna stared at the three boys fast asleep on the bed. They made a pretty picture, she thought, contemplating drawing them. Then she turned back towards the main room. She had had a full day of classes and had the assigned homework to prove it. Might as well get a head start on that while the others rested.

**

Neville’s heat ended on the night of the twelfth, and the pard was left dragging and drained throughout the entirety of the next day, just as if they really were recovering from a nasty bout of the flu. It was Hermione who noted Luna was missing that Saturday morning. She looked up from the breakfast table— still not quite one hundred percent again, yet—and scanned the other house tables to be sure.

Half of the great hall was still missing—either because it was Saturday and they were sleeping in or because they were recovering from their colds. A few boyfriends and girlfriends were being especially lovey-dovey due to the holiday. Hogsmeade weekends were strongly discouraged after October’s attack, but Harry had worked his magic with Dumbledore to have some of the more popular shops visit Hogwarts and had set the other prefects in charge of organizing something like a muggle fair—the first and second years had been especially excited. Or, at least they had been before everyone had taken cold.

Colds sucked.

Then again, so did recovering from crazy heat periods. Harry cast a glance over to the Slytherin table where Blaise had chosen to sit with his former dorm mates. Did incubi have heat periods? He couldn’t remember, but he thought Hermione might have mentioned something about it. If they did, were they anything like nymph heat periods, because if they were, he was definitely going to need a bigger pard before Blaise went into heat. The incubus was already near insatiable enough, although Neville’s heat had managed to tire the Slytherin out some.

“Luna’s missing,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry’s head popped up again. Neville and Hannah—who spent most mornings breaking her fast at the Gryffindor table with Neville, Harry, and Hermione—were frowning. He did his own sweep of the room, confirming what Hermione had already noticed. He double checked the Slytherin table, just to be sure. His second look managed to capture Blaise’s notice.

“She wasn’t in your rooms this morning, was she?” Hannah asked. In one of the rare nights, they’d all retired back to their own dorms yesterday, to put in an appearance, so others could see just how tired and exhausted they were.

“It was her birthday,” Neville whispered, sounding shocked and horrified.

“What?” Hermione snapped.

Hannah blanched. “Oh, no! How could we have forgotten.”

“My fault,” Neville muttered, sinking in on himself.

“Wait. Yesterday was Luna’s birthday?” Harry asked. Surprised.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Really, Harry. Do you know anyone’s birthday?”

“I know yours,” he countered. “It’s in September. And Neville’s is the day before mine.”

“And mine?” Hannah asked.

“Uh… March?”

“Try next Saturday,” she corrected.

“Shit. Really?”

“Really.”

“And Blaise’s was in October,” Hermione supplied.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, bewildered.

“We’re in arithmancy together,” she answered, as if that explained everything. Maybe for her, it did.

“Luna was really worried about her inheritance,” Hannah recalled. “Do you think she’s still in the Ravenclaw tower?”

“We could always ask one of the ravens,” Neville suggested. “But I don’t think she would have gone back there last night. Actually, I’m a little surprised she didn’t stay with you and Harry.”

“Me, too,” Harry agreed, frowning. “Let’s head back up, and I’ll check the map.”

“Good idea.”

Except Luna wasn’t on the map. “It’s possible she’s somewhere off campus,” Harry supposed.

“It’s more likely she’s in the room of requirement,” Blaise supplied, rejoining them.

“Does someone want to stay behind in case she pops back up?” Hannah asked.

“Just take the map with us,” Hermione pointed out, honestly concerned about the younger girl now. She, too, remembered how nervous the Ravenclaw had been about her inheritance, which was why she had wanted to bond with Harry. Her worry for the blonde girl saw her leading the way up to the seventh-floor corridor to the wall across from the painting of dancing trolls.

There was a door already there, and the five pard mates shared a worried look. Harry stepped forward and knocked. It seemed like the right thing to do, after all. You didn’t just go through doors when you didn’t know who or what was on the other side. Never knew if a three-headed dog or something worse might be waiting to greet you.

After a moment, the door opened. Harry entered first, followed quickly by Hermione and Blaise. Neville and Hannah waited a beat longer before also going in.

The room wasn’t a room at all. Instead, it was a forest glen, with a small brook tinkling through. The walls of the glen were covered with moss and lichen. One of the larger rocks had a natural dip in it and made for a somewhat ideal resting spot. Or so Luna must have thought because that’s where she was curled up, fast asleep. Harry went to go to her when the others stopped him.

“Wha--?”

“Don’t you see it?” Neville whispered. Why was he whispering.

“It’s a fairy circle,” Hannah pointed out. And then Harry did notice the random mushrooms poking up here and there. Only they weren’t so random as he’d originally thought and dismissed. Looking again, he could see they were in a circular pattern, wrapped around Luna at a rather large radius, but still there.

“I’m not going to just leave her here by herself,” Harry protested.

“Harry, magical fairy circles are rather a lot like the muggle fairy tales,” Hermione warned. “I wouldn’t suggest breaking one without invite.”

“It’s Luna.”

“And if she’s not the one who put it up?”

“All the more reason to go and check on her,” he argued.

“It’s all right,” Luna’s voice carrying over to them, and they all turned as one and watched as she reached out and knocked over one of the mushrooms, breaking the perfect circle. “I hope you realize I would never do anything just to harm you,” She said, sitting up and pushing her blonde hair away from her face.

“You disappeared last night,

<span title="beautiful moon flower”> bellissimo fiore della luna </span>,” Blaise announced. “We were worried when you didn’t show up this morning for breakfast.”

“Oh? Did I miss breakfast? That’s too bad.”

“I’m sorry we missed celebrating your birthday yesterday,” Harry said, stepping over the rocks to get to her.

She blinked owlishly up at him, at the hand he held out to her.

And then she smiled beautifully up at him, reaching out to accept the hand he offered. “That’s all right. Everyone was still recuperating. Besides, I really wasn’t fit company yesterday.”

“Luna, are you, all right?” Hannah asked hesitantly, also approaching now that Harry had proven it was safe.

“Yes, I’m much better. Thank you. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Really, I just needed a good rest,” Hannah returned her smile, reaching out a hand for the younger girl. “It’s you we’re concerned about now. Did you go through your inheritance all alone last night?”

“It wasn’t so bad,” the Ravenclaw promised them. “Because I had all of you there with me.”

“But we weren’t,” Hermione protested, upset. “And we should have been.”

“Yes, you were,” Luna corrected gentle. “Since the day you allowed me into your hearts, you have always been with me. Can’t you feel it?”

They looked at one another, mostly in confusion and concern. But then, Luna had always seemed to function on another level. Blaise slipped behind her, so she was encircled now by her pard mates. Bending forward, he placed a gentle kiss against her nape before pressing his head to hers. “You are in our hearts,” he confirmed.

Luna’s head tilted back against him, eyes unfocusing before she waved her hand. “Look.”

They looked, but didn’t see anything. At first.

And then, slowly, glowing threads of energy started fading into existence. They brightened and became more solid until they seemed truly corporal. There were multiple threads of energy extending from each person, some brighter, thicker than others, but none as bright or as think and the ones that extended between the six of them.

They reached out, one by one, hesitantly at first, and then more confidently, in awe and amazement. Each time they touched one of the connecting threads, the other person shivered, and they shared a smile. Harry easily found the thick threads that lead off to Hermione, Neville, Luna, Hannah, and Blaise. He could guess at the sixth solid thread that lead off to somewhere in the castle, most likely the Gryffindor boys’ dormitories and a sleeping Ron—but the seventh thread was somewhat confusing. It was thicker than any of the other multitude of other threads wafting and waving about him—many more than any of the others—but still noticeably thinner than the threads connecting him to his pard; and yet, it seemed muddled, swelling thicker one moment and then thinning out the next.

Harry was surprised and just a little bit surprised that he seemed to have so many other, thinner threads, especially since the others seemed to have fewer but stronger/thicker threads connecting them to other persons unknown. Why did he seem to have so many?

“You look like a shining jellyfish,” Hermione mused, staring at the seemingly unattached threads in curiosity.

“Or a cat with nine tails,” Blaise smirked, reaching his hand into the mess of loose threads, blinking in surprise when several of the threads seemed to spark or brighten.

“Possibilities,” Luna explained watching Harry’s threads as well. “Always so many possibilities surrounding you.”

She reached out and touched the thread that couldn’t seem to make up its mind—thicken or thin. “Tricky possibilities, but the potential exists.”

She smiled at them, then. “I should apologize. You must have felt extremely fatigued last night. That was my fault, I’m afraid.”

“Were you in here all of yesterday?” Neville asked, frowning. “I don’t remember seeing you at dinner, now I think about it. But you were there earlier in the afternoon, weren’t you? I mean, I thought I heard your voice…”

“I came here after I left you all Wednesday night.” She paused, looking away. “I should apologize again. You should know, I interfered, just a little bit.”

“You countered the potion,” Neville said, matter-of-factly.

“It was already failing,” Luna felt it necessary to tell. “It would have failed before morning. I’m sorry.”

“What potion?” Harry asked, looking between the two, confused.

“Wait,” Hermione stepped in. “You countered the potion we made?” she asked. “But why?”

“What potion?” Harry repeated.

“It was a long shot anyway, Hermione,” Neville tried to placate her. “Thank you for making it for me.”

“But that means you’re—and she—and why?” Hermione sputtered.

“If I hadn’t of interfered, the potion would have remained in his system for nearly the remainder of the night, but it was failing.” Luna explained. “It would have failed before morning, which meant you would have all had to suffer through at least two if not three more mating cycles and you would have all been even more exhausted than you already were because of me.”

“What potion!” Harry shouted, finally earning their attention.

Hermione, Luna, and Neville all shared a look.

“A few weeks ago,” Neville started, “I asked Luna and Hermione if they would make an anti-conception potion for me.”

Harry blinked. “Would that even work?” he asked, puzzled. “I mean, you’re a guy. Aren’t the… the mechanics a bit different?”

Neville grinned. “A bit. Which is why I asked Hermione and Luna. There is a male anti-conception potion, but it’s a bit tricky. Well, extra tricky for me, I guess, because of my nymph inheritance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nymphs are creatures of nature,” Luna supplied. “They embrace the circle of life, and they do not appreciate interference. Neville’s magic was already attacking the potion we made him, probably from the moment he took it.”

“But there’s still a chance he wouldn’t have conceived,” Hermione argued. “We were already tired. Biologically, it would have been near impossible for the boys to have been able to impregnate Neville, even if his heat had lasted until morning.”

“You’re thinking like a muggle,” Blaise gently reminded the head girl.

Hannah nodded. “Harry and Blaise both have sexual creature inheritances. Or didn’t you find it strange that they still were able to give it a go until the end of each cycle?”

Hermione blinked. Opened her mouth to reply. And then snapped it shut.

“So,” Harry drawled. “You’re definitely…” he motioned towards Neville’s stomach.

“I was trying not to really think about it, but yeah,” Neville admitted. “It’s pretty much guaranteed.”

“It’s really too soon to tell,” Hermione tried to argue, but even she knew that wasn’t right.

Neville shot her a disapproving look and her shoulders slumped. “You read the book I gave you.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Hermione tried to defend herself. “And I’m not upset—at you or anyone. It’s just… Just, sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to wrap my head around some things. I’m sorry. I know, you’re right. You would have known almost immediately. And we should have known when you didn’t have another heat cycle yesterday morning.”

“So, you’re really…” Harry started again.

“Pregnant,” Neville said, letting the word drop and hang between them.

Suddenly, Hannah squealed and rushed forward, catching Neville around the middle and hugging him fiercely. “Congratulations!” she shouted. “We’re having another baby!” She giggled, and he laughed as they swung around just a bit, slipping and nearly falling on the moss-covered rocks.

“Careful!” Blaise and Harry both cried, jumping forward to catch the other two and nearly slipping as well.

Harry’s eyes widened to saucers, darting between Hermione, Neville, and Hannah, as he realized that three of his mates were now pregnant.

“Luna, can you always see these?” Hannah asked as she regained her balance and reached out a hand, playing with the threads that connected her to the others.

“I could, sometimes,” Luna responded, staring around her. “I don’t think they’ll go away now. I See so many things… so clearer than before…”

“Anything you can tell us?” Harry wanted to know, reaching out to stroke the threads as well.

“Nothing that would make very much sense to you now, but when it will…” She smiled over at Blaise. “That would be lovely. Yes, thank you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I accept your invitation to head down to the merchant tents set up on the lawn,” she explained.

Blaise blinked in surprise but then a smile broke out. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed, pulling the smaller girl against him and dropping a kiss against her lips. “And you will let me buy you something in celebration of your birthday? I’m afraid we were all not well enough to properly celebrate your special day.”

“No worries,” Luna replied. “You’ll more than make up for it. Later.”

  
**

For the remainder of the month, Neville’s moods swung from jubilant to wretched, sometimes in a matter of minutes. One day when he was practically radiating, glowing with happiness and health, a few girls had tried to teased Hannah. When they saw the little bounce in his step they right out suggested it was because the blonde Hufflepuff had put out and that was why the cowardly lion was in such a jolly mood. Hannah had seared those gossip-mongers’ with a hard look.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Neville and I have been quite intimate for months now, thank you very much,” she said almost primly. “He’s received some good news he was waiting to hear, and that is why he’s so happy. Nothing so mundane as getting laid, as you put it.”

Meanwhile, Harry was little more than a wreck. With half of his pard in a delicate way, he found himself more anxious then ever before about their safety and the danger he represented to them. Hermione and Hannah and now Neville, pregnant, carrying a helpless, innocent little life inside them, their first children—Hannah’s pregnancy was at least in stasis, which supposedly offered some security to both her and the unborn child, but still!

And Hermione, at 21 weeks, had passed the halfway point of her own pregnancy. That was an experience—it wasn’t that she complained, although Harry wouldn’t blame her if she did, but it was plain to him that things weren’t going exactly smooth. Her stomach often reacted negatively with certain foods—“Just a bit of indigestion or heartburn,” she would brush aside his concern. Blaise brought out the special oils he’d received for Christmas, and Luna purchased a few others that would help soothe the skin slowly being stretched out from her growing belly. Hannah also added her hands to the work of coaxing cramping muscles into relaxing.

The concern over keeping her and their baby safe gnawed at his insides.

“There’ll be no way to really hide the fact that she’s pregnant soon,” he rambled aloud one afternoon when it was just him and Blaise in the Head Boy’s rooms. “And now Neville…” He shook his head. “We can’t just ask Madame Pomphrey to put the spell on him.”

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Blaise reminded him casually as he continued to lie sprawled over the sofa, lazily reading a book. It was not the first time Harry had fallen into a worry session. It wouldn’t be the last, he was sure. Besides, the best way he’d found to deal with his lover when Harry was like this was to just let the other ramble and wear himself out in circles. “It’s too dangerous for any wizard simply because the male body is not conducive to growing new life—it’s ill equipped and prolonging a male pregnancy is more likely to make the wizard sick and end up killing both him and the baby. Besides which, Neville’s magic would never allow it.”

Harry shot an apprehensive eye towards Blaise. “Do incubi have heats? You’re not going to go into heat or anything any time soon, are you? I really don’t think I could handle all of you pregnant at the same time.”

Blaise grinned spiritedly, stretching out languidly on the sofa, his body on natural display as the vanteera paced back and forth furiously. “As a matter of fact, yes, incubi do have heats.”

Harry froze, staring back at Blaise in fear filled, horrified disbelief. “Although,” Blaise finally added, “each is particular to the individual. My mother, for example, has a heat period every eight to nine years. As I have only recently come into my inheritance, it is impossible to know the range of my own heat periods, but it is unlikely that I would enter one for another two years, yet.”

Harry nodded, somewhat satisfied with that answer. “Then we’ve at least two years before we have to worry about you getting pregnant, too,” Harry sighed, flopping onto the sofa next to Blaise. “I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling like everyone is vulnerable.”

“Don’t think of it as being vulnerable,” Blaise suggested shifting to curl up against his mate. “Think of it more as of each person having more of a reason to fight harder to defend and protect themselves, keep themselves and each other safe. Because of the babies they’re carrying—the children of our pard, our children. It is a worthy cause to fight and defend for.”

“Anything could happen,” Harry worried. “A Voldemort supporter can come up behind one of you and push you down the stairs. You could lose your balance and fall. Or someone could attack you in an empty hallway.”

“That’s the danger everyone faces, Harry,” Blaise pointed out, soothingly running his fingers through the other male’s dark hair. “Do not borrow trouble that has not showed up to our doorstep, yet, my love, mio amante. Let us enjoy our remaining time at Hogwarts together. Our remaining time as students, living in a partially innocent world. We will have to deal with everything else soon enough. Now,” Blaise asked, determined to change the subject from a topic that was obviously stressful, “what are those parchments on your desk all about?”

“Letters from the goblins concerning my various new investments and purchases,” Harry huffed out, accepting the change of topic.

“You’ve been investing?” Blaise queried, somewhat surprised.

“Just a little bit,” Harry confessed, shooting a shy little embarrassed look towards Blaise. “I don’t know a whole lot about investing, but that’s why I have a goblin looking into possible companies and properties. A goblin will know where the money is at and how to follow it home.”

“And of course,” Blaise replied, somewhat sardonically, “the goblin skims a bit off the top for each successful investment, there by lining their own pockets.”

“Naturally,” Harry agreed.

“What else have you been up to? Surely not all those letters are about investments…”

“No, not all,” Harry agreed. “It’s the information I request for having some of the curse breakers and warders see to some of the different properties Neville and I looked at during the Christmas holidays. Remember?”

“I remember you being unsatisfied with what you found then,” Blaise frowned. “Have you changed your mind? Are you thinking to have one of them redone?” Blaise asked, slightly surprised. He knew how much refurbishing and renovating older properties could cost.

“Well, a few of them, actually. Not all at once,” he added, seeing Blaise’s disbelieving look. “But, eventually I want all my properties warded and maintenance. That way, if they’re all done, then no one can know for sure which one we’re staying at,” Harry pointed out. “Not unless we tell them. And besides, it gives everyone a place of their own if they ever decide they need it. I mean, I know you have your villa in Italy to escape to when you need some private time, and I suppose Neville could always visit one of his properties, but…” Harry shrugged.

“Not that I’m saying it’s a bad idea, but is it really cost effective?” Blaise pointed out. “Goblins are not cheap.”

“But they’re worth every penny of the work,” Harry returned. “Ask anyone. Plus, their client loyalty is super high. They take their privacy seriously. We won’t have to worry about a death eater coming along to imperio the information from them. Can’t think of anything safer than that.”

“Having a large three-headed guard dog?”

Harry laughed… and then wondered what ever had become of Fluffy.

***

Tbc…

~NEXT TIME~

The Ides of March might not be so idling….

  
Harry woke with a start, heart racing

“Harry? What’s on the other side of the door?” Blaise asked again.

Harry gasped, opening his eyes and practically jackknifing off the bed. “Voldemort.”

“You see too much, don’t you?” he asked solemnly reaching out and taking her hand. “That is your gift, you curse—Sight.”

“I See,” she agreed.

“Back off, now, Potter,” Severus growled lowly, threatening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are three more chapters roughly hewn, thanks to nanowrimo. March ended up being split into two, and then Easter... Still anticipating this story wrapping up before 50 chapters, but we'll see. The second half of April should lead us straight into NEWTs, which will bring up to the end of the year and the boss battle, because, as everyone knows, the Dark Lord is always so respectful of education to wait until *after* the standardized testing period before attacking.  
> On a bit of a side note, for those who have been expressing opinions over Severus's inclusion into the pard: It has always been my intention to include Severus as one of Harry's mates--since before I even knew about Neville. That has not and will not change. The only reason I went back and removed that relationship header from the tags is that their relationship is such a slow, slow, slow burn and I was waiting until the relationships were introduced before updating the tags. However, hints of his inclusion have remained throughout the story. At one point, Harry in full Vanteerian form noted Severus as a potential mate. Luna looked at Snape and told him it wasn't his time yet. But you will start to see more of Severus's involvement with the story from here on out, and I'm going to go ahead and update the tags to represent that. If you feel that will be a hindrance in continuing to read the story, I'm sorry, but I understand and honor that.


	38. The Ides of March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's dreams persist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story warnings apply this chapter: mentions of death eater meetings with torture, murder, rape, sexual slavery, forced impregnation, and other not so niceness.

Chapter 38: The Ides of March

~THEN~

Harry sighed, flopping onto the sofa next to Blaise. “I don’t like this. I don’t like feeling like everyone is vulnerable.” 

“Don’t think of it as being vulnerable,” Blaise suggested shifting to curl up against his mate. “Think of it more as of each person having more of a reason to fight harder to defend and protect themselves, keep themselves and each other safe. Because of the babies they’re carrying—the children of our pard, our children. It is a worthy cause to fight and defend for.” 

“Anything could happen,” Harry worried. “A Voldemort supporter can come up behind one of you and push you down the stairs. You could lose your balance and fall. Or someone could attack you in an empty hallway.” 

“That’s the danger everyone faces, Harry,” Blaise pointed out, soothingly running his fingers through the other male’s dark hair. “Do not borrow trouble that has not showed up to our doorstep, yet, my love, mio amante. Let us enjoy our remaining time at Hogwarts together. Our remaining time as students, living in a partially innocent world. We will have to deal with everything else soon enough.” 

***   
~NOW~  
*** 

– Tuesday, March 4, Hogwarts – 

Harry woke up. 

Beside him, Hermione mumbled and shifted, but she didn’t wake up, and for that, he was grateful. She had been sleeping poorly the last few nights and had been more tired than usual during the days. A tired Hermione was an irritable Hermione, and an irritable Hermione was just plain scary for everyone. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his sleeping mate. 

Deciding he was too jittery to even try to go back to sleep, he shoved his feet into his trainers and pulled a somewhat clean robe over him. 

It was the middle of the night, hours after curfew but still hours before morning. The hallways and corridors of the school were deserted—not that he expected anything less, but it allowed him to wander in peace. He was grateful the others hadn’t spent the night—even Blaise had been convinced to join his dormmates for the evening. It allowed Harry an opportunity to slip away from his rooms. 

A part of him wanted to rush up to the headmaster’s office and bang on the door, shouting that the death eaters had just had another meeting, that Voldemort was planning another raid… but that was nothing new, nothing that the headmaster didn’t already know by now. 

“Potter!” a stringent voice called out from behind him. “What are you doing out of bed!” 

Harry started, only then realizing his wandering feet had taken him towards the Great Hall and the front doors. He turned around to watch the potions master coming through the otherwise empty hallway. Was he just returning, Harry wondered. Why didn’t he just take the floo back to his rooms? 

There was an extra pallor to Snape’s skin as he stalked through the shadows of the school, only some moonlight filtering in from high placed windows lit the corridors. This late at night, even the torches had been dimmed, and so the older man looked like a thing made out of shadows—sinister and deadly. 

“Well, Potter? Nothing to say for yourself and your blatant disregard for school rules?” Severus sneered, drawing up on the younger man and crossing his arms over his chest—although, tonight, in the mood Harry was in, it looked more like the man was holding onto himself. 

Harry blinked up at the potions professor. He felt both numb and wired with shock. The source of his shock spilled from his mouth without a thought of consequences. “Voldemort had another meeting.” 

Severus winced—probably because of Harry’s use of the dark lord’s name, but maybe because Harry knew about the meeting. Both were a source of discontent for the older man, worth a wince or two at even the idea of either. A seventeen-year-old student had no business being privy to the depths of depravity pursued by a group of terrorists—that they could both agree upon. 

“The Dark Lord conducts many meetings, Potter. I trust you don’t expect to receive an invitation,” Snape growled, arms dropping to his sides as he stared at Harry with livid suspicion. The meeting house was layered in multiple wards and charms, not least was a fidelius that prevented members from speaking the house’s name or sharing any of its secrets with others. Potter shouldn’t know of it at all. That he did was deeply troubling. 

“I saw it. I dreamt about it, and I remembered when I woke up just now,” Harry explained. “A house, by the ocean, I think. I could smell salt water, anyway. At least, I think it was salt water. And the Death Eaters were there, giving reports, receiving directions, but I can’t remember who they are or what their faces look like,” he added with frustration. 

“You shouldn’t be seeing them at all,” Snape snapped at him before adding with a hiss, “You must learn to close your mind.” he glared at the young man standing in front of him in his pajama pants and school robe. 

Harry shouldn’t have been able to see anything at all of that house. That he did implied more about the boy’s visions that unsettled him deeply. What if Potter was seeing into the dark lord’s mind, what was there to stop the reverse? Once again, he felt his position, strung between two masters, tighten around him like a noose. Surely, he would suffocate and die one day, caught between his many vows and promises. 

He wasn’t given access to any of the kidnapped victims, but he could easily guess what was happening to those people—he was the one called upon to brew the complicated and complex potions the dark lord had demanded. He could certainly guess what fate befell those unlucky enough to be acquired by the dark lord’s forces, although he did his best not to dwell on what he could not immediately set to rights. 

On the other side, he was prevented from saving any of those people. There was no way he had of sneaking someone in or out of the property to retrieve the captives. And there was a distressing lack of information he could bring back and tell the Light. Definitely nothing good or reassuring. Order meetings were a special slice of hell—at least at Death Eater meetings there was the chance of watching others get crucioed for some perceived failure.

 

Severus blinked, shaking himself free from his thoughts. 

 

“I do!” Harry cried. “I’ve been trying to clear my mind, but nothing seems to work! Sometimes, it’s like, the nights I try and clear my mind, those nights are worse because I end up seeing more.” 

“You must want to close your mind,” Severus pressed. 

“You think I don’t want to? You think I want to actually keep dreaming about these things? They killed an entire family tonight! I don’t want to see that!” Harry cried, his magic starting to whip around him in his agitated state. He turned away from Snape and slammed his palms into the stone wall. “I thought maybe if I tried practicing occlumency more that it would help, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s made it worse.” He pressed his aching head against the cold stone. “Before, when I would have the nightmares, I’d wake up with the impressions of things that happened. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t really see it, not really. But now… now it’s almost like it’s a movie playing out before me when I’m asleep, and I can’t seem to wake myself up.” 

“And your desire to play the hero, to find some kernel of information you can sniff out to help save the day, has nothing to do with it,” Severus scoffed. 

“I’m not—I don’t—“ Harry growled, whirling around to face Snape again. “Why do you always think the worst of me? Yes, if I remember something important, I’ll share it. I want those people safe, don’t you? Yes, I wish I could help them, but I can’t. I know this, believe me. I’ve had my face rubbed in it enough already, thank you very much. I get it. There’s nothing I can do to help. I hate it. I absolutely hate it. Yeah, I want to just run off and go find that house and save all the people inside it, but I can’t. I don’t know where it is. I can’t remember when I wake up, and it drives me absolutely insane because I know I know where it is, but I can’t describe it or explain it!” 

“Fidelius charm,” Severus muttered. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Is that what it is?” he asked, wondering. “It doesn’t feel like this when we’re on about the Old Place.” 

“There aren’t as many charms and wards up around the Old Place, Potter,” Severus sneered, slightly disgusted at the boy’s lack of knowledge. 

“No, I suppose not,” Harry sighed, drooping a little. 

Severus found himself loosening his own starch posture. He was tired. Bone-weary tired. It had been a long day even before the evening had arrived, filled with detentions to supervise and papers to correct. And just when he was readying to retire for the night, his cursed mark had flared to life, his dark lord and master bidding him summons. He was given little grace way in consideration for the circumstances surrounding his location, but even so, the dark lord was not a patient creature. He had left the walls of the castle behind as quickly as possible while still walking the earth, and as soon as he had slipped through the wards at the front gates of the school, he had apperated away to the Meeting House. 

A few death eaters were loitering in the hallway. He ignored them, sycophants who were hoping to receive positive notice. The fools. He swept passed them with not even a look of acknowledgement. If anything, he was disappointed, recognizing several faces of former students. A waste of education. 

He arrived at the main hall—a ballroom in the manor house’s former life—strode inside purposefully, and fell into a precise bow. The dark lord enjoyed his ceremonies and pomp. 

“Ah, Severus!” the wizard exclaimed—although it was more of a hissed wheeze. “So good of you to join us. I just received word that we are in need of a few potions. You will, of course, see that Pike has what he needs.” 

It wasn’t a question. “Yes, my lord,” Severus replied instantly. “As you say.” 

“Very good. Get the list from Pike,” he added dismissively. “Now, while you’re here. Tell me, my spy, what news is there of Hogwarts.” 

Dumbledore had given him a safe list of information to pass along—a lot like Voldemort did for Dumbledore’s benefit. Really, it was a bit exhausting, acting like the messenger boy between the two powerful wizards. More often than not, Severus wished reverently that Dumbledore would just step up and take care of Voldemort like he had Grindlewald. It hadn’t happened yet. Frankly, he wasn’t sure what the old man was waiting for: the dark lord’s power base continued to grow more powerful with every new member that was convinced to join up. 

And Severus was trapped in the middle. 

He wished he could just turn his back on them both, walk away and be at peace. But he would never escape. Somewhere over the last year, he’d come to the realization he was going to die a slave. He wasn’t sure he even cared anymore. The list of potions Pike had handed him before he left burned like acid in his pocket. He’d only glanced at the different potions being requested of him, but it was more than enough to make him sick. 

He had gone straight back to Hogwarts and found the headmaster, sharing what little information he could. If the potions he was to make were any indication, there was to be another raid, and soon. Why else would the dark forces need so many nutrition and fertility potions so soon after his last delivery? 

“Sir?” 

Severus blinked, and suddenly he was back in the corridor having run into Potter of all people while returning to his rooms. 

“Are you all right?” 

“It’s late, Potter. You should be in your bed, sleeping.” 

“So should you,” the boy responded before coloring. “Be in bed, sleeping, I mean. Your bed, that is, not mine, I—”

Severus quirked an eyebrow. “Really, Potter. I assure you, I have no intention of ever being in your bed.” 

“Ah, now, that’s just plain rude,” Harry countered, suddenly playful. “How do you know you wouldn’t enjoy yourself? Or is that it—you’re afraid you’d enjoy yourself too much. Can’t have that, can we?” 

“You judge yourself too highly.” 

“You could always judge for yourself,” he offered, stepping closer to the older man and leaning into his body space. “Maybe you could even… teach me, a thing or two.” 

“Back off, now, Potter,” Severus growled lowly, threatening. 

Harry frowned, puzzled at his own actions, and with a shake of his head, he stepped back. 

“You should go back to your chambers,” Severus told him. “Now.” 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. “Yeah, I think you’re right. More tired than I thought. Must be stress or something, right?” He didn’t really expect a reply, which was good because Snape wasn’t about to give him one. He turned away, still puzzling over his weird behavior, because, really! What the heck was that all about? He didn’t seriously just proposition his potions professor, did he? And he definitely wasn’t feeling even the remotest bit of disappointed that the other man shut him down. No, definitely not. He was just over-reacting to things because of his latest dream-vision. That had to be it. 

“And Potter,” Snape called when the head boy had found his way to the main stair case. “Fifty points from Gryffindor.” 

Harry was about to protest, but the words died in his throat, and he found himself nodding resolutely and heading back up the stairs to his and Hermione’s rooms. 

 

– Thursday, March 6, Hogwarts – 

 

Harry woke with a start, heart racing. Slowly, the adrenaline was leaving his system. Already the images were fading away, lost to him. The emotions lingered for longer, but eventually, they would dissipate as well. 

The bed shifted. “More bad dreams?” Blaise asked. 

Immediately, guilt filled him. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Blaise rolled over, curling up against Harry. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “I’m glad I woke. Want to tell me about it?” 

“There’s nothing to tell, is there?” Harry groused, somewhat irritably. 

“What do you remember?” 

Harry shivered. “Something good happened—good for him,” he added, now sounding quite miserable. “I don’t know what, though. It could be anything.” 

Blaise reached up and ran his fingers through Harry’s sweat-soaked hair. “It’s still early yet. We could probably get a couple more hours of sleep in, if you wanted.” His fingers slipped from Harry’s hair, skimming down his cheek and onto his chest, pressing his palm against his slowing heart.

“I don’t think I could sleep now.” 

“We can try, if you wanted,” Blaise still offered. 

Harry smirked a little. “Try what?” 

Blaise returned his smile. “For once, not that, my lover. I suggest merely to help you get back to sleep, if you wanted.” 

Getting back to sleep after a vision-dream always seemed like a pipe dream, but he was willing to try just about anything. “How?” he asked almost immediately. 

Blaise shifted up on the bed again and this time he settled Harry against him. “Close your eyes,” he directed. “Breathe. Relax. Feel the bed beneath you, supporting your weight. Feel the sheets, wrapping safely around you. Listen to my voice, and just breathe.” 

And then Blaise continued to speak, his voice warm and melodic, almost hypnotic. Harry couldn’t make out the meaning of the words—the other boy had slipped back into his native Italian—but the rich deep voice crooned in his ears as his mind was set adrift. Before he knew it, he was lulled back into the land of nod. When he woke next it was morning, and he felt refreshed. He had no memory of the dreams he dreamt. No echoes of others’ emotions. 

When he’d mentioned in passing that Blaise had helped him fall asleep, Luna had been immediately excited and demanded a chance to tell him “a bed time story”. 

Luna’s bed time stories weren’t anything like Blaise’s, but maybe that should have been expected. Luna’s voice was soft and wispy—it lacked the rich, warm tones of Blaise’s voice. And for all that she was calm and soothing, she also had a lilting quality. Her words, while often seemingly nonsense when strung together, were familiar to his ears. And sometimes his brain would attempt to make sense of her musings. 

The biggest difference though, Harry found, was that when Luna talk him to sleep, he would dream. 

It was a short while later when he said something about it to Blaise while they were getting ready for bed again. The other boy just nodded and said, “That makes sense.” 

“How so?” Harry asked, genuinely confused, dropping onto the bed. “I mean, you’re both just talking. Not even really talking about anything important, are you? I mean, can’t really understand the stuff you’re saying anyway when you’re talking in Italian.”

Blaise leered, crawling onto the bed and over Harry. “I could be reading you off a recipe list or reciting the dictionary or telling you the deepest darkest secrets of Slytherin, and you wouldn’t even know the difference,” he teased, collapsing beside him. 

“Are you?” asked Harry suddenly curious. “Are you really just reading off recipes?” 

“No,” Blaise laughed, “seriously. I’m just telling you stories of my youth. Sometimes memories. Sometimes I’m just reciting old children stories.” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” he reassured him, before considering. “Well, no. Sometimes I might be complaining about homework.” Blaise winked at him and Harry obligingly laughed. 

“It might be nice to hear something about your childhood memories, though,” he mused. “Why do you always slip into Italian?” 

“My goal is to soothe you, my lover, and some of my stories, I think you would be too interested in.” 

Harry shot him a gamely eye. “I think I want to hear some of those stories.” 

Blaise continued to grin, unable and unwilling to stop the pleasure that arose from Harry’s interest in his past. It tickled his fancy pleasantly to know that Harry was curious about him, his past, wanted to know more. He had been just a little bit worried at first—the pard had seemed to assimilate him with very little resistance. No hesitancy or resistance or protests. One night he just followed Harry home and after that, he was there. No real trial or interview. And the others quite literally welcomed him into their arms and beds. He was beginning to learn this was somewhat customary for events surrounding Harry—this happened to or around him, and the others just dealt with it, ‘like normal’. 

‘What is normal?’ Luna’s voice sung through his thoughts. ‘We make our own normal.’ 

How true she was. 

“So why do you think it makes sense then for Luna’s stories to cause me to see visions, when yours don’t?” Harry asked, refocusing on the original topic of their nighttime discussion. 

Blaise mused over his words, carefully considering what he wanted to say. 

“I suspect it’s because she’s fae,” he settled on answering, finally. 

The candle light had dimmed as they both settled back into bed. Now they laid, cuddled up under the blankets in near darkness. Hermione was still out at her desk, studying something or another. Luna had said her goodnights over an hour ago, announcing that she was having a sleep-over with several of the younger Ravenclaws. Hannah and Neville had also left them for the night, and so with a warning not to stay up too late, Harry and Blaise had decided to turn in for the night. It felt a little weird sometimes, falling asleep or waking up without the others there. The Christmas holiday had definitely spoiled them. But it was good sometimes, too, to have a little bit of space from one another. If Harry ever had disgruntlements about Blaise sleeping in his bed every night, he never said anything about it to the Italian boy. If anything, Blaise suspected Harry clung to the companionship. Maybe that made some sense, if the things he’d begun to suspect based off some of the things he’d overheard just by listening to Harry and Hermione and the others talk—or not talk—about their pasts. They all already knew Harry’s past was not anything even remotely near the best. 

“The fae are wild creatures. They work on a completely different mindset than most humans or humanlike beings. They may look human, but it should be remembered that they’re not any more human than you or Neville or I. We began as human, maybe, but we’re not, not anymore. We’re something other, as well. Fae, though… they appreciate and enjoy a wide spectrum of other. They’re perversely tricky to categorize or define… their inability to settle into one classification or another is what allows us to define them as fae, actually. It’s a bit fascinating. I studied it a bit one summer.” 

Harry made a noise to show he was still listening, even though his eyes were drooping and his breathing slowing, deepening. 

“Luna’s magic seems to be more prophetic than mischievous or harmful, like some fae. I guess it could be possible she’s guiding you into visions. What does she talk to you about?” 

“Luna usually just sounds like she’s talking about walking through the woods or traveling down tunnels, chasing creatures around,” Harry mumbled. “One night, we found a pool in the middle of the woods, and we tried to swim all the way to the bottom, but there was no bottom. Or there was the door in a big tree trunk. We went through and there were stairs that led up or down. We walked up, up and up and up until we reached the top, and we were in the sky, hanging out with the stars. We had to find a rainbow to slide back down to earth safely.” 

“That sounds like quite the adventure,” Blaise murmured, sliding his limbs against Harry’s, just enjoying the sensation of his skin rubbing against another’s. 

“Mmhmm. We found a cave behind a waterfall once,” Harry confided. “It led on forever. Much longer than even the passage between Howgwarts and Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. We just kept walking and walking until we finally came to some old wooden door. It might have been a really nice door at one time, but you could tell it’s taken a beating or something.” 

“What was on the other side of the door?” 

It took forever to reach the door, it was so long, the passage just kept going and going. He had to be careful on some of the steps, the stones were wet and slippery, but the packed dirt was solid beneath his feet. Sometimes he thought he saw something sparkle or shine along the walls, but Luna told him not to worry about that. He was more focused on the destination.

There was a door. 

How did he know there was going to be a door? 

But it was simple—like a peasant’s door. Nothing remarkable about it at all, except is sat there in the dirt wall. There were no symbols or anything on the door, so thinking himself prepared, he pushed forward. The door resisted, despite seeming so weak. He pushed again, harder, before realizing his mistake. He pulled on the door, and with only the littlest amount of stick, the door opened. 

The other side seemed brighter after walking through the darkness of the tunnel. But it wasn’t all that bright. In fact, the only real source of light was the fire place against the far wall and the lamp on the writing desk. Harry started, a figure sat at the desk. They didn’t seem to notice him at all. 

He stepped closer.

The man was nightmarish—pale and skeleton. His black robes only served to accentuate his pallor. 

The door opened behind him, but it wasn’t the same door he’d come through. This was a much nicer door. Better constructed. Where was his door? 

Another man entered, head bowed, black cloak seeming to engulf his form. “My Lord, you called for me?” 

“Yes…” the voice was sibilant. It sent shivers down his spine. He didn’t like it. “It has been brought to my attention that you have outgrown your current facilities.” 

The man shifted, restless and nervous and looking as equally uncomfortable being there as Harry was.

“Corvinaes has informed me he is finished with the last of the basic reconstruction. All that remains are the flourishes and trappings. Someone else will handle that. For now, know that you are to prepare for the transfer. You and your wife are to continue on attending to the gestations and births—I understand our numbers continue to grow. That is good.—someone will be by within the next few days to move the children.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” the death eater practically wept with sincere gratitude. “We will prepare.” 

“Yes, see that you do.” 

“Harry? What’s on the other side of the door?” Blaise asked again. 

Harry gasped, opening his eyes and practically jackknifing off the bed. “Voldemort.” 

“Wha?” Blaise sat up beside him, the sleepy haze falling away. “Are you sure—I mean, how? I mean, what?” 

“It was Voldemort, and he was sitting in a room with a fireplace and desk. He was sitting at the desk reading some papers and making notes. And then someone came in, and he told them that they were going to be moving the children.” 

“What children?” 

“Voldemort’s got this whole breeding program,” Harry rushed to explain. “His death eaters keep raping their captives until they’re knocked up, and then they’re transferred to some house where they’re kept until they give birth. Then they’re sent back to the death eaters to be raped and impregnated all over again.” 

“What?” Blaise reeled back in horror. “That’s despicable! How do you know this?” he demanded, pushing aside the thought that such things were happening. 

“I’ve seen it,” Harry answered, sounding way more calm that Blaise thought he should be. “I’ve experienced it. In my dreams. But…” Harry frowned. “But I never really remember them when I wake up.” 

“But you remember now?”

Harry was still frowning. “I… I don’t know.” 

“What did the room look like?” Blaise pressed, eager to capture as many of the details as possible. 

“I don’t know, just a room,” Harry responded. “Like a study or something. There were books on the wall. It was dark.” 

Harry shrugged and Blaise frowned, pressing, “What did the other man look like, the death eater?” 

“He had his robes up. I didn’t see him.” 

Not enough. “Was it day or night time?” 

“It was night… the fireplace and the lamp were the only lights in the room, everything else was pretty dark.” He was pretty sure of that. Was there a window in the room? He couldn’t remember. 

“Did they mention any names?” 

Harry’s face wrinkled in concentration as he fought to remember their conversation. “I… I don’t… Corvin, maybe? But that doesn’t sound right…” 

“What did he say, Harry?” Blaise pressed. 

“The reconstruct was finished,” Harry whispered, as if he was still trapped in the dream. “They were going to move the children. The death eater was happy.” 

There was a knock on the door, startling both of them. 

“Harry?” Hermione called, poking her head in after a moment. “Are you still awake?” 

“Just barely,” Blaise answered. 

Hermione hesitated a moment, hanging onto the door before seeming to make up her mind and push through. “You don’t mind if I sleep with you tonight, do you?” 

“Not at all,” Harry replied immediately, holding the sheets up to encourage her into bed with them. 

“Never,” Blaise agreed. “You are always welcomed, Hermione.” 

“What brought this on?” Harry asked, even as he helped settle Hermione against him. “Not that I mind at all, but you usually choose to sleep in your own bed during the week.” 

Hermione settled into the bed, snuggling up against Harry’s side, bum pressed against his hip, head pillowed on his arm, and her cold, cold feet tucked back under his shins. “I just didn’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she explained, already closing her eyes and making to head off to sleep. 

Blaise and Harry shared a look. Harry’s said, ‘what can you do?’ while Blaise’s clearly stated, ‘We’ll be speaking out this in the morning.’ 

Harry grimaced but nodded in acceptance. 

*** 

They didn’t speak of it in the morning. Mostly because Hermione was up before either of them and prodding them up out of bed and dressed so they could head down to the Great Hall for breakfast. As had become customary, Luna was waiting for them near the bottom of the stairs. Blaise easily hooked an arm through hers and told the others to go on ahead. 

“You’ve been leading him in guided visions,” he practically hissed once the others were away. It didn’t take a genius to see Blaise was spitting mad. 

“Good morning, Blaise,” Luna chirped, leaning over to give her boyfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, I’d love to take a stroll of the corridors with you before breakfast. That would be lovely.” 

She led them off to wander away from the Great Hall and the other students. They wound up in one of the many rooms that had been appropriated for study groups. It was empty now, and Blaise whipped his wand out, firing off silencing and locking charms at the door before Luna had finished settling herself on top one of the tables, fanning her skirt out. 

“You’ve been leading Harry into guided visions,” he accused again, once he was done with the door. 

She nodded. “Yes,” she answered simply. 

“You were supposed to be helping him sleep more peacefully!” He crossed the room on a wave of righteous anger and protective instinct. 

“No,” she corrected gently. “You’re helping him clear his mind and rest peacefully. I’m helping him reach inside himself to channel the different paths of divinity.” 

Blaise’s frustration, if anything, sky rocketed. “Did you know what his nightmares were about? Did all of you know and just didn’t tell me? He’s seeing you-know-who in his dreams! No wonder he wakes up in cold sweats and has trouble getting back to sleep!” 

“I’m not sure if Hannah knows,” Luna answered calmly, “But Neville and Hermione do. Neville used to be the one who went to Harry when he had his visions. Neville came to me to confirm the spell work for the charms he used on Harry’s bed to alert him when Harry got up in the middle of the night, but now that you’re sleeping with Harry, he’s trusting you to take care of him, which is rather a good thing right now, don’t you agree? Neville really does need to be taking care of himself right now.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Blaise growled. 

Luna frowned. “You can’t stop nature. You might try to slow it down, but nature will always find a way. The potion was failing. It would have failed.” 

“But there’s a chance it would have lasted,” Blaise countered. 

“It would have failed,” she insisted staunchly.

“But you can’t know that one hundred percent positively,” he maintained. “Neville made a choice, and you took that choice from him.” 

Luna’s eyes clouded and crumbled. “I had to.” 

“No,” Blaise corrected. “You chose to, just like Neville choose to take that potion in the first place.”

“But he didn’t really want it,” she declared.

“That doesn’t matter,” Blaise practically shouted with his earnestness. “He made a choice, Luna, and he would have had to deal with the consequences of that choice, just like the rest of us.” 

“He would have been in so much pain,” Luna murmured, looking up with sorrowful eyes. “If he had woken up from an unsuccessful heat… he would be hurting.” 

Blaise shook away her words. “That’s not why you did it, and it doesn’t matter. And we’re not talking about Neville right now, we were talking about Harry. Harry and his nightmares that aren’t really nightmares, are they? They’re visions, true visions.” 

“Yes,” Luna replied, somewhat meekly. 

“Harry is having true visions,” Blaise had to repeat, just to make himself process that fact. And then he added, “Of You-Know-Who.” 

“No,” Luna revived her earlier buoyancy and began kicking her legs, and then she paused again, frowning. “Sometimes, yes. Often times, perhaps. But also no. Harry is capable of true vision, sometimes,” she added. “But the connection he shares with the Dark Lord usually overpowers any other visions he might have.” 

“Connection?” Blaise immediately jumped on. “What connection? What do you mean the connection he shares with the Dark Lord? How can he share a connection with… with… him?” he demanded. 

“It’s the dark thread. You saw it, didn’t you?” Luna looked at him, puzzled. “It looks all wrong. All those other threads, connecting to Harry, bright and shiny, the vicarious threads of all the people who cling to the idea of Harry as hope and salvation. But not that one. Dark and oily and wrong,” she added with a shiver of contempt. “It’s old, too. I think it might have been forged when Harry was a baby, when Voldemort tried to kill him the first time. He must not have been taken to a proper healer because I think a piece of Voldemort’s soul attached itself to Harry.” 

With that wild amount of food for thought, the piece Blaise attacked first was, “Harry has a piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to him?” 

“Yes,” Luna confirmed matter-of-factly. “We’ll have to get rid of it before we can completely get right of the Dark Lord, of course. It shouldn’t be too difficult.” 

“How can you say that?” Blaise demanded, fear clawing up his throat—fear for the boy he’d come to love quite desperately; fear for the little family they were in the process of building, a family he wanted more than anything; fear for a future he had thought assured that now seemed dubious. 

“Because we’ve avoided almost all of the other possibilities that led to the more difficult methods of removing the connection,” Luna answered succinctly. 

“What were those?” He almost dreaded knowing, but maybe knowing what she considered the more difficult methods would help him appreciate what methods were left to them now. Because he highly doubted whatever they were going to have to do to free Harry from his connection with the Dark Lord were going to be anything but difficult. 

“Well, the least acceptable one would be Harry dying and taking the soul piece with them.” 

Blaise’s heart stuttered right there and then, paining his chest something dreadful, and he was sure the color drained from his face. “What?” 

“Quite unacceptable, don’t you agree?” He didn’t think he would ever hate Luna, but she sounded too damn chipper and happy to have said the words that had just come from her mouth. 

“Quite,” he managed to whisper, swallowing thickly. 

“The other’s don’t end so pleasant for us. I quite enjoy our relationship, Blaise. I’m glad you decided to make a go for us.” She smiled and held her hand out for him. 

“You see too much, don’t you?” he asked solemnly reaching out and taking her hand. He couldn’t deny her. He didn’t think he would ever be able to, any more than he could deny any of the others. He would bend over backwards to keep them happy and satiated. Her head tilted, looking at him puzzlingly. “That is your gift, you curse—Sight.” 

“I See,” she agreed. 

“But it’s not always a forgone conclusion, is it?” he whispered, leaning in against her. 

Her eyes unfocused. “So many possibilities. It’s…hard…to know which… choices upon choices.” She looked back at him, meeting his gazing and seeing him, not seeing through him. “The potion would have failed, and you all would have been ill for days afterward, not just mildly exhausted.” 

Blaise pressed his lips together, still not liking what she’d done but not willing to fight about it anymore now. She had her reasons, and she believed her actions were right. He disagreed. That was something they would have to work out, but later. That could wait. Right now there were other matters pressing on him.

“And will we make it out of this safely?” he asked.

Luna’s head tilted again before answering him, “Mostly. Yes.” 

“And Hannah, Neville, Hermione?” he had to ask after. They were their most vulnerable family right now—he couldn’t help but worry for them, although he thought he was slightly better at controlling his concern than Harry. “They will be well? We will make it out of this war together?” 

And that last part was almost as equally important to Blaise as everyone being safe. Everyone making it out of this war safe but not together was inconceivable to him, but he would rather that be the case than anyone not making it out safely. He couldn’t imagine their little family with anyone less than who they were already. 

“We should,” Luna agreed, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, delicate fingers twisting into the material of his cloak, holding him against her. 

“What about Harry?” he had to ask. He had to know. What did she see for their shining prince, their king? 

“There are always so many possibilities around Harry,” Luna’s small voice whispered. She looked up at him than, her large blue eyes staring up into his almost pleading. “But yes, he will survive. He has to survive. We will make sure of it, yes?” 

“Yes.” He sighed. “I’m still mad at you.”’ 

She kissed along his chin. “Don’t be mad,” she said, parting her thighs and pulling him closer. “There are so many better things to do with your time. You didn’t feed last night or this morning, did you?” 

“No.” He didn’t ask how she knew. Luna just always knew those small things about any member of the pard. He didn’t think it was necessarily the Active Sight. Possibly passive sight—like that niggling feeling most people got that told them to take a different route or bring an extra jumper on a warm day. Only it was more along the lines of, ‘Have another piece of chicken, Hermione,’ ‘Neville, stay away from the Brussel sprouts,’ and ‘Have some sex, Blaise.’” 

Then again, when it came to Luna and sex, she was pretty much always offering. A quickie in an unused classroom or ducking into the haunted girls’ bathroom—and who knew ghosts could be so pervy? A heavy petting session behind a random suit of armor or in a broom closet. Or on the rug in front of the fireplace, or on the sofa, or on the study table, or if they actually made it to bed… Stars, but he was a lucky devil. 

“Then feed now,” Luna offered, shifting back and lifting her skirt to show she wasn’t wearing any panties under the thick materials. Her socks rode all the way up past her knees to nearly midthigh. The sight was intoxicating. She leaned back on display, spreading her legs wider. “I would like to spend the morning, knowing your cum is inside me.” 

He groaned, low and deep, already pushing his robe out of the way and unfastening his trousers. How could he ever deny such a request. 

“Without any panties it’ll be spilling onto your thighs and skirt,” he warned, reaching out with his other hand, slipping his fingers into her greedy slit, relishing the musky scent of her, the squelching sounds of her creamy juices squishing around his fingers. 

“I just guess I’ll have to put a magic cup over my pussy to catch any of your cum that tries to slip out,” she reasoned. 

He groaned again, whipping his cock out and giving it a few quick strokes before lining the head up against her spongy wet folds. He dipped in and out several times, teasing himself against the heat and touch of her. She moaned and arched, and suddenly he was thrust home, practically all the way to the root as she swallowed him to the root in to the center of her molten heat. 

He paused, savoring the sensations— So good. So familiar. So perfect—and then he shifted, pulling back, withdrawing before thrusting forward again, and again, and again. He settled them into the quick paced tempo they preferred for semi-public quickies, a steady thrusting, filling her over and over again as a litany of crude praises and demands spilled from their lips into the other’s mouth. 

“So good,” he panted. “You take my cock like you were made for it.” 

“Deeper,” she whimpered. “Deeper, fill me, cum in me, Blaise. Want to feel you all day.” 

He came with a quiet grunt, painting her insides with the strips of thick cum she’d wanted, and despite the over stimulation of her fluttering walls, he forced himself to stay locked inside her, continuing with more shallow thrusts that allowed him to rub up against all her sensitive bits until she was over stimulated, too.   
Panting as they recovered their breath, leaning against one another, Blaise laughed airily as he realized he’d never taken off his shirt. In fact, he hadn’t even removed his slacks properly. He wouldn’t be surprised if, when they finally withdrew from one another, he didn’t have some of Luna’s juices staining the front of his trousers. He would be carrying her scent with him the whole day. 

Luna had a little bit more to respect. All she needed to do was pull her skirt down. “We should probably head back to the others, our absence will be noticed.” 

“They’ll just think we ran off to have a quick shag,” Blaise murmured, wishing her blouse was opened so he could lay there and suckle one of her tits. She had such pretty nipples, perfect for suckling. He pressed his face against her chest instead, nuzzling. “Which we did.” 

“Mmm, we did,” Luna agreed, canting her hips against him. The movement provided the final bit of stimulation needed for Blaise’s now flaccid penis to slip free with a little squirt. Both grunted at the loss. She wrapped her hand around his cock, gently scooping off the remains of her own pleasure and licking her fingers clean while his own hand slipped between her thighs to play with her creamy hole, still loosely stretched from their activities, but quickly closing back up. 

“How soon before either you or I end up knocked up?” he asked suddenly. “Can you see that?” 

Luna frowned, eyes hazing as she Looked. “You will be a father before you will ever be a mother,” she said dreamily, “But that is all I know right now. I’m sorry Blaise.” 

“What about you?” he wondered. 

Luna shook her head. “It’s always harder to see myself.” 

He nodded, accepting that for now. Not to say he wasn’t a little bit disappointed—just a tiny, little bit. There was a strong need, a desire crawling just under his skin that cried out for what Hermione and Hannah and Neville had right now. The craving need to have Harry’s cum inside him, filling him so completely that it rooted inside him, took root and began to grow something new. Some tangible piece of Harry he could carry with him always. 

He stepped away, finally, and began cleaning himself up, making himself presentable for the rest of the day. 

“Did you know Neville would get pregnant this year?” he asked, not looking at her as he tucked his cleaned penis away safely back into his trousers.

“It was always a possibility,” Luna answered. “As long as certain things happened first—Harry being in almost every scenario. If Harry didn’t accept Neville’s plea… if he didn’t agree to mate him, he would have never bred Neville… but as long as he bred Neville, accepted him into his family unit…” She hummed. “It was almost inevitable that Neville would have conceived during the school year. You helped, too.” 

He looked up, surprised. “Me?” 

“Yes—during the winter holidays, you helped keep Neville properly sexed.” She grinned. “You primed his motor and sexed him up so well it sent his nymph to go into heat early. When he joined the pard, I’d originally pegged him for his first heat coming sometime in March. That would have been ideal, giving us more time for my own inheritance, which I already knew was going to be difficult.” 

“How do you mean?”

“When I first approached Harry to be allowed into the pard it was so Harry could act as my grounder. I already knew he would be able to help keep me from flying apart when my inheritance arrived, but with the extra support from the rest of the pard, I would have been extra protected. Except, you were all nearly spent from trying to satisfy Neville’s heat.” 

“I still don’t understand how your inheritance would have affected us,” Blaise explained. “Or you us.” 

“Oh. I suppose that makes sense. It’s fae magic. It is not necessarily a kind entity. It sometimes resents sharing itself amongst others who were not born and raised within its midst. The wild magic enjoys its freedoms, doing what it wants to, when it wants to. Half-breeds and non-pure born fae, though, aren’t always subject to its whims. We grow up with the understanding of constraints and rules which magic must abide by. It fights its inheritors, and sometimes it will succeed.” 

“What happens if the wild magic succeeds?” 

“The would-be inheritor is consumed by the magic,” Luna explained blithely. 

“What does that mean?” 

“I would have ceased to be Luna Lovegood and become something other,” she told him. “I would have left Hogwarts to join the wild magick where ever it roams. Instead, you provided me with anchors to keep me grounded to this reality, so no matter what the wild magic tried, I could always find my way back to my proper body, back to you.” 

“And being your anchors drained us of some of our energy,” he concluded, recalling how she’d been concerned about how they were feeling. 

“Yes, it can. In some cases, it’s been known to completely drain an anchor, and if that’s not enough, then both can be lost to the wild magic.” A melancholy look crossed her face. “It’s very sad.” 

“Any other surprises I should know about now, or maybe this week?” he asked, voice a little weak at the thought of having potentially lost one or more of his mates because of fae magick. He would have to do some extra research on the subject, and soon. 

Luna thought. “Neville’s sickness will continue while his body makes the necessary changes to probably carry a baby. Hermione will be extra cuddly, so we should all take advantage. There will be an accident in one of the greenhouses because Neville is not there—one of the plants is especially temperamental and won’t take kindly to his absence. Two of the expectant thestrels will foal before the end of the month. I should warn Hagrid.” 

Blaise nodded.

“What happens?” he asked after another moment when neither one of them made any move to leave the room just yet. “When the Dark Lord is gone?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You said Harry was having true visions, but they were always all about You-Know-Who because of their connection,” Blaise continued. “So what will happen when the connection is gone, when he is gone? Because I can’t believe we won’t succeed. Harry will beat him, and when he does, then what? Will Harry still have these prophetic dreams?” 

“Yes,” Luna answered. “But they should be like all other normal visions—visions of random happenings, mundane thing. Like they should be. Just like they always should have been.” 

“But he won’t ever really have any control over what he’ll see?” 

Luna frowned, considering. “I don’t think so, no. Maybe some small influence, but no. Harry’s prophetic ability is not strong enough to truly control what he sees.” 

“Not like you.” 

She smiled. “Not like me,” she agreed. 

 

*** ***** 

~Mid-March, Cornwall~ 

Lucius Malfoy fell gracefully to one knee before his lord and master. He was grateful for a number of things as he stayed there, waiting for the dark lord’s acknowledgement. He was grateful for the potions he’s imbibed before leaving his manor—potions for pain, potions for loosening stiff joints, potions for releasing the tension in stiff, stressed muscles. He was grateful that his son and wife were safely out of reach of his current master. He was grateful that his son would never have to see the father he’d always been so proud of debasing himself before a hideous caricature of a man. He was grateful that the other death eaters currently in the house were not in the room with him to witness the mighty and elegant Lord Malfoy waiting on bended knee like a commoner… He was grateful the Dark Lord did not make him wait long to look up from the various papers on his desk. 

 

“And what news do you have for me, Lucius,” the Dark Lord hissed. And he was grateful that he had some actual news to share with his lord and master. There was not much, but what there was, was good news, and Lucius succinctly shared what he’d gleaned from the Ministry. 

“Good, good,” the Dark Lord practically purred, stroking the long neck of the snake that had slithered up and over his shoulder. Lucius waiting in silence, wondering if his lord had forgotten about him, lost in his own musings, but knowing he had not been dismissed and therefor couldn’t leave yet. He wanted to leave but dared not make a move towards the door. 

“My plans are going very well indeed,” the Dark Lord murmured, wide mouth stretched wider into a facsimile of a smile. “We will need the home in Oakleigh properly dressed out, and perhaps another repurposed before summer. My loyal servants have been preforming well to help repopulate our numbers. I’ve even been informed that all of the Notts’ are currently expecting. It seems our little Yule ritual was a success—all three Nott females are successfully conceived and even Nott himself has managed to breed two from the pens. Or so I’ve been told.” 

“That is very good news, my lord,” Lucius responded. “To know that our world will soon be infused with new life and powerful magic from old families, and all in service to you, my lord, is very good news, indeed.” 

“Yes, indeed,” the Dark Lord hummed. “It’s a shame we could not take the boy as well—he is certainly of an age to have been properly bred besides his stepmother and sisters—but, alas, there is always this summer. But you, Lucius!” 

Lucius’s insides froze. 

“With the regrettable but necessary loss of your dear Narcissa, and now young Draco, lost to us as well due to his poor choices… that leaves you without a rightful heir. This cannot be allowed, Lucius.” 

He did not remind his lord that it was his own wand which slewed his wife—and because she was medically incapable of conceiving and carrying another child, which is why they had stopped trying for a second child, especially when she and his infant had almost died upon her one successful pregnancy. He did not point out that his lord had kept her sister, Bellatrix, around years ago even after the madwoman had been hit by a withering curse that completely destroyed her womb and the child she’d been carrying, sending the middle Black sister into an even more terrifying downward spiral of insanity than she’d already been on. 

“A child from one of the breeding stock is certainly not worthy for the next Malfoy heir,” the dark lord continued. “It would be a crime, really, to allow one such influence. But to allow the Malfoy name to wither out of existence….? Hmm, no. There is no other recourse.” 

The Dark Lord smiled at Lucius, and Lucius struggled to control his body from reacting, recoiling. 

“I shall assist you myself, Lucius. Find Pike and retrieve the appropriate potions. Then return to me this evening and we will see you conceived of an heir worthy of the Malfoy name—one not besmirched by the apparent insanity of the Blacks, a pity what happened to that line. Tonight, Lucius. See that you are prepared.” 

Realizing what is being ordered of him, a pale Lucius obediently made his leave, thinking once again how thankful he is that his son was far away from this. 

What Lucius did not see when he left the Dark Lord to his business was the man reach down below his desk and almost affectionately pet the head of the girl curled up at his feet. “It looks like you will have a night’s reprieve in your services, my pet,” he drawled, looking down into the clouded brown eyes of his chosen. “I shall simply have to continue enjoying your talents until then, hmm?” 

He tightened his grip in the girl’s hair, using the grip to force her face down into his lap. A careless flick of a finger split his robes to reveal the bare flesh underneath as she eagerly went to work swallowing. He watched he for a few moments, enjoying not only the sensations of her hot, wet mouth but also the teasing glimpses of her gently rounding belly every time she bobbed up. “That’s it, my Ginevra. Please me.” 

*

As Lucius hunted down Pike, the dark lord’s healer, and acquired the specific potions that would make this night somewhat bearable, he ruminated on his late wife— his beautiful, wonderful, talented Narcissa. Coldly calculating and manipulative and wildly passionate. He had had one or two dalliances in his younger years, as was only expected of an heir, but he had never taken another lover after entering his marriage with the youngest Black sister. There had never been any need or desire to do so. 

And he had never taken a male lover ever, he thought somewhat disparagingly as he studied the indigo sludge that made up the potion Pike had given him. He prayed for fortitude, staring at the male conception potion, more than a little dismayed. 

He had known of its existence, of course—it was of common knowledge among the purebloods. Developed a little more than two centuries ago to allow a male to temporarily form a female’s internal reproductive organs, thereby allowing him to conceive a child with his partner without the services of a third (female) party. Prior to its development, male partners were forced to enlists the services of a surrogate bearer in order to conceive a child—unless, of course, the man was already a natural bearer. But those were rare creatures, indeed. It was much easier to find a woman willing to be an incubator. She would ingest a conception potion up to a week before lying with the chosen father. 

For most men who were in need of this particular conception potion, the task of sleeping with a woman was most cumbersome. Not so for Lucius. He was not, nor had he ever been, a lover of males. In fact, he had never thought to have need of any conception potion at all. He had accepted long ago that Draco would be his only child and had doted upon and perhaps over-indulged the boy. 

Oh well. What’s done was done. Once more he thanked the gods of magic that his son was safely away from this web of madness he himself found himself caught in… and he forced himself to gulp down the sludge. 

The dark lord was about power… pleasure, whatever pleasure there was to be had from the event, would merely be a nonessential side effect. Knowing this, knowing what was to be his fate, Lucius knew he’d have to plan accordingly and take extra precautions. He did not want to give the dark lord another opportunity to bestow such honor upon him. And part of him—the pureblooded Lord Malfoy part—did in fact see and appreciate the honor and prestige his lord was to impart. The chance to combine his blood line with the honored Slytherin bloodline—once thought to be extinct and lost forever… 

He was honestly more than a little surprised his lord would even consider such an action. The Dark Lord was not a lover of male flesh, or any flesh that he was aware of—despite the knowledge of how he kept the female Weasley like a pet. She was not subjected to the breeding houses that serviced the dark lord’s servants, at least. Lucius saw little need or desire to visit the houses for himself, but he had been through enough of them on the behalf of his lord, inspecting their upkeep and conditions. The sight of those people—chained and drugged—muggles and magicals alike…. He shivered. 

Remembering what happened to the Notts, he was grateful that his wife could not be subjected to the same indignity, to be reduced to the status of slave and concubine like Nott’s young wife and two daughters. He knew that they would have completed their first trimester and begun to show already. Soon they would be moved to the holding houses where they would be placed in enchanted sleeps for the remainder of their pregnancies. When they woke up again, they would be back in the chattels houses, servicing the dark lord’s servants once more. 

That would never happen to Narcissa nor Draco… as long as the boy didn’t get caught. He would do his best to make sure his son remained free. 

He was passingly familiar with the copious amounts of potions the slaves were forced to ingest. They were quite effective—which was only to be expected. Severus was quite talented. He would need plenty of potions to assist him through tonight and the months ahead, and he knew just the potions master to visit. Severus was the best, after all. He silently toasted the potions master with his goblet of mixed elixirs. He sincerely hoped that the mixture would ensure swift conception, making tonight as painless and enjoyable as magically possible. 

Once again, he was grateful that his son was not at current risk. Had Draco still been considered loyal to the cause, Lucius had little doubt the madness he was enslaved to would demand his son’s submittance, too. No. For what little time there was, Draco was free of the dark lord’s service, safely absconded at Hogwarts, shielded somewhat by his mother’s name and family. Protected by Potter of all people… 

“Sir? Master be asking Korby to be letting yous know—” 

“Go away,” Lucius growled—angry not at the little beast but at the situation. He glared at the last vial. His body was mostly relaxed and pliant. Amazing for how stressed he was. The next potion would move him beyond his stress and into a heightened state of arousal—just like the dark lord’s slaves. 

Sickness clawed at his stomach, but it was time. Without another moment of hesitancy, Lucius tossed back the aphrodisiac and reached for his cane. His belly was warming with more than just nerves as he apparated away from Malfoy Manor. Resolutely, he approached the front door and followed the elf to one of the parlor rooms. The Dark Lord’s manor was not like the other houses the death eaters were invited to. There were no chains on the walls or instruments of a dubious nature on display. It was simply a room, tastefully decorated but not overabundantly so. Surprisingly, he did not have to wait long for the dark lord to join him. 

“Ah, Lucius, punctual as always,” he praised. “I trust you have seen to the potions that will be necessary?”

“I am grateful for your concern, my lord. I have, indeed, procured the required elixirs and partaken of them.” 

“Excellent. We shall retire to a more appropriate room and take care of this small matter now then. I had my elf accommodate one of the guest rooms for your use tonight.” 

“That is most generous of you, my lord.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

The Dark Lord led him down a hallway and into one of the many rooms. Inside, was rather plain—a bed, a wardrobe, a night stand and washing table. Lucius could feel the effects of the potions he’d ingested, working their magic upon him. 

“Disrobe,” the dark lord command. 

His muscles were too loose to cringe or flinch. He slipped the robe he’d worn specifically for easy from his shoulders and pushed down deep away any hints of nervousness caused by his nakedness. 

“An exquisite form. Shape, colors, Malfoys have always had such striking features.” A trail of fingers up and across his back nearly caused Lucius to shiver. “Lovely, almost. Onto the bed—no need to turn around. Hands and knees will suffice. Did you prepare yourself completely, Lucius?” 

Cool flesh slid up behind him, cause his own flesh to crawl. He swallowed the scream that wanted to tear from his throat, and instead moved pliantly as the dark lord directed. A tingle of another spell washed over him, the uncomfortable feeling of leaking secretions, a cold hand pressing his shoulders down into the bed, pulling his hips up and back… He had used not only the special lubricant Severus sold for a pretty penny but also several loosening and stretching charms he’d had to look up specifically. Lucius pressed his face into the scratchy covers and bit down a hiss as the dark lord’s fingers penetrated him intimately. Magic—copious amounts of potions and spells—made the entry practically painless and ensure he received some pleasure from the act. Still, he shook and quivered the beneath the dark lord’s assault. And it would only get worse… 

“You did. So thoughtful. Saving me an extra step. We shall waste no more time, then?” It sounded like a question, but Lucius knew the Dark Lord made no requests…only demands. 

Those cold hands griped at his hips—as if he was going to try and escape. There was no escape. He knew that. He was resigned to his fate. He only hoped that the numbing agent and pain potion floating around in his system would help mitigate any of the damage. More cold flesh pressed up against his, from his knees and thighs all the way up his back. 

There was little other warning. The dark lord did not fumble around like a school boy in a broom closet. He merely shifted his weight until he had the desired alignment… and then drove forward. Lucius groaned under the pressure of the intrusion, sucking in another breath when the dark lord dragged himself back out of his body…. And WHOOSH! As he drove back in.   
It was a punishing pace, and all he could do was kneel there as take it, praying that the dark lord would finish using his body quickly. 

It didn’t matter, however. 

The dark lord held him with a punishing grip that would leave bruises littering across his hips like confetti if he forgot to apply a bruise cream when he returned home. When his lord did finally reach climax, it was with little ceremony or fanfare—a stuttering tempo and a hissed breath. The dark lord held him in place, and Lucius imagined he could feel the slimy cum befouling his insides. His innards twisted at the thought. And then, it was over, he thought, looking forward to going home and bathing. 

The dark lord had other plans. Reaching over to the night stand, he pulled open the drawer and retrieved a revitalizing potion. “We shall have several goes,” the dark lord informed him, “to insure conception. After all, the Malfoy line is too old and prominent to allow to die out with yourself.” 

Lucius did not return home until the early hours of morning, sore and aching and slightly nauseous as well. 

“You’re too old to be trying for an all-night bender, aren’t you?” 

Lucius was too weary, too drained to startle at the voice. And really, there were only a very small number of people who ould enter his wards uninvited. 

“Severus, what are you doing here?” he growled, his voice raspy and raw. The dark lord had wanted him to scream… and was very persuasive. 

“Your elf came by yesterday with some rather unusual requests,” Severus drawled, looking up from the fire which he’d been staring into for the last however long. He motioned negligently to the potion’s parcel at his side. “I thought to make sure for myself that you are still alive and in one piece.” 

He practically shambled over to the small liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous draught. He gulped the drink down—entirely unacceptable behavior for a Malfoy, but he could give less than a fuck-all at the moment—before responding. “As you can see, I am still alive.” 

“Though you look to be missing several pieces,” Severus didn’t even attempt to stop himself from commenting. Good old Severus—could always be counted on for his honest if barbed tongue. 

Truly honest, he reflected, taking note of his current state of attire—if he had been anywhere but in his own home, he would have been deeply embarrassed. In fact, he was a little ashamed but too exhausted and depleted to care much at the moment. His ancestors would have words to say, for sure. 

“The dark lord decided to be concerned for the fate of the Malfoy line, and as Draco is… currently deemed undesirable and any bastards I should deplorably father off the breeding stock are equally undesirable… the dark lord decided to… graciously assist me in conceiving an heir.” 

“Himself?” 

“Indeed.” 

“To have the Malfoy line tied to the Slytherin line would be… a feat,” Severus tried for diplomacy. 

Lucius grimaced. “If he even still has claim to the Slytherin line.” 

Severus started at the comment. Lucius himself was abhorred he’d actually voiced the thought he’d had somewhere between round three or four. “How so?” 

He hesitated, but really, he was too aching and exhausted to guard his tongue, and also… if anyone could help explore the validity of the idea, surely it would be a potions master? “The ritual he used… a year ago, to regain a physical body…It required three key components to enact—bone of his father, flesh of his servant, blood of his enemy.” 

Severus nodded. On quite a few occasions before, they had secretly discussed the mastery of accomplishment such a dark ritual had been… and their complete astonishment that Wormtail had ever been able to carry it out. 

“But… it was his mother’s line which was descendent of Salazar Slytherin,” Lucius pointed out. “No one’s dared mention—or maybe not even dared to conceive… that his blood is more tainted than ever. My child, if I did indeed conceive, and he was most thorough in ensuring I would, has just as likely a chance being related to Peter Pettigrew or blasted Potter as he does some muggle who died over fifty years ago!” 

Severus stared at him, allowing the anger and pent up emotions of the night pour free from the other man until he swayed there, resting heavily on a cane that was meant primarily for decoration not function, and panting heavily. His mind felt heavy with the thought foisted upon him. Best not to think such dangerous thoughts at all. 

“I have brought several potions you should find benefiting,” he finally announcing. “Would you like assistance to your bed chamber or would you prefer to make your own way?” 

Lucius grimaced at the thought of more potions, more magic worked upon him. “I hate you right now.” 

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Severus responded nonplussed, already reaching into the parcel case and retrieving the first of several potions for the blond. 

*** 

As the third weekend of March approached, the students were expressing more excitement for the festivities planned for the Spring Equinox which would be celebrated Friday afternoon clear through to Sunday evening. It was the first try at the fifth and sixth years really planning a big ceremonious event for the school, and it took several meetings to help ensure things got done, but overall, Harry and Hermione were satisfied that they’d be able to hand over the reins at the end of the school year and see the festivities continue for quite a few years. Hopefully. 

Of course, the weekend did not end without its mishaps, and several of the younger year prefects were reminded of just how blunt and critical their peers could be. Still, Harry was relieved that Hermione seemed to be somewhat relaxed –for her—and was able to enjoy herself. Because with the progression of March came the dour realization that their NEWTs were little more than a month away. 

In true Hermione fashion, the head girl had drawn up revision lists and schedules for each of them. Harry and Neville quietly coached the others through this phenomenon—how to talk to a revising Hermione, how to work around a revision schedule without incurring the wrath of Hermione. There was the added edge of danger this year because of Hermione’s pregnancy. Harry and Neville worried about her over stressing herself with NEWTs revision, and the others agreed. Together, they were able to work out a bit of a system to make sure Hermione wasn’t over working herself at any point, while still allowing the girl to have her precious study time. 

Truth be told, with the professors all piling on the revision work, Harry was beginning to feel a bit nervous. It didn’t help much that he continued to dream. 

Thankfully most of his dreams were innocuous things—the exhilaration of flying on his broomstick with a bunch of other people, anxiously splitting his attention between searching out the snitch and making sure the littler ones around him didn’t do anything too reckless; contentedly sitting around a large, feast-laden table, a gaggle of voices filling the room with a swell of love and exasperated affection; gaiety of swimming in the warm waters of the Mediterranean with the others and eating on the patio surrounded by frescos; the humdrum boredom of sitting in class, taking notes. 

A few were darker in nature, but he thought they were actual nightmares and not visions this time. Still, it wasn’t pleasant to dream about carrion birds picking at the flesh of dead bodies piled into mounds, or of hands wrapping around his throat so tightly he couldn’t breathe. He was grateful to wake up in the arms of his mates on the nights nightmares visited him. 

As the end of the month steadily approached, Harry began remembering more and more of his dreams. Additionally, he acutely remembered a good portion of his and Blaise’s talk… about how the difference between Blaise’s talking him to sleep and Luna’s talking him to sleep resulted in either plain old dreams or vision dreams. He wasn’t dumb. In the light of day, with an awake mind and plenty of time to avoid his school work, Harry had been able to piece together what was going on and why Blaise looked so upset. 

And Blaise was definitely upset. The Italian didn’t like the idea of Harry having visions about Voldemort any more than Harry enjoyed them, but then, he couldn’t blame him any. If Harry felt like he really had a real choice, that there was anyone else who could do what he could, he wouldn’t have wanted to be the one having visions of a crazy, mass-murdering dark lord bent on killing him and just about everyone he cared about either. 

The alternative was not having any idea about what Voldemort was up to, and that wasn’t a good option either. Maybe Snape was right and he did have a hero-complex, but for the first time, Harry was beginning to think he actually had a choice. He might have some control over his visions—at least over when they occurred. It took him several weeks of practice, interspersed nights where neither Blaise nor Luna stayed with him and he had his bed to himself or with only one of the others. On his own, he was able to practice the technique Luna had been patiently showing him, and eventually, one night, without Luna’s or Blaise’s help, he was able to find his way back to that invisible path that led to Voldemort. 

The death eater entered the room, practically stumbling over his feet. “You wanted to see me?” 

“Yes, I wanted to ensure that the construction of our newest home was going along well.” 

“Yes, sir, everything’s on schedule. We’ll have the Cambridge farm ready by the end of the month and the Kent property ready before the end of April.” 

“Good, I wish to be able to move several of our special guests there as soon as possible, so keep up the good work. Oh, and Gibbons?” 

“Yes, my lord?” 

Voldemort shot off a crucio faster than the death eater could flinch. It was lifted a handful of seconds later. The man, Gibbons crawled to his knees, shivering uncontrollably. 

“Do not tally so long in the pleasure houses that you fail to do your job.” 

“Yes, my lord, as you say, my lord,” the man stuttered out, bobbing his head. 

“Dismissed.” 

Gibbons scuttled out of the room, hunched over so far he might as well have been on his hands and knees. 

Voldemort sighed. “Fools, pet. I’m surrounded by fools who think I will not find out when they have been skirting their duties to me. Ah, but Lord Voldemort always finds out, doesn’t it?” 

At first, he thought the crazy man was talking to his snake—he spent many hours talking to his snake. But it wasn’t the snake lying on the large pet bed placed by the fireplace. He could be excused for not having seen the bed—it was tucked out of immediate view of the door or where he was standing, off to the far side of the large desk where Voldemort sat at. Barely one corner could be seen peeking out from behind the desk… 

The dull blue eyes looked glassy and drugged. The pallor to her skin spoke of months away from any sunshine. Her hair, so often likened to the licking flames of fire like the one in the fireplace beside her looked equally dull—lank and without any of the luster or the vibrancy that normally radiated from her. 

Harry fell to his metaphorical knees beside her with a cry. “Ginny!” 

Of course, she didn’t respond. She couldn’t hear him. She lay staring at nothing in front of her, one hand curled up by her face, the other curled protectively over her middle, her knees tucked up hiding the full extent of her nakedness. But there was no hiding the swollenness of her belly, growing gravid with new life. Harry was very familiar with the sight from watching Hermione these past few months, and more recently Neville, who’s belly had already began to change. 

“Ginevra, come,” Voldemort commanded, and like a puppet, the girl unfolded and stood. He pushed a little ways back away from the desk, provided just enough space to pull the girl before him and with little prompting, sitting her naked arse on his desk top. He spread her legs wide so he could scooch back closer to the desk, and placed his hands around her swelling belly. 

“My heir. I will forge us an empire, and you and your brothers and sisters will lead my army. We will rebuild the nobility of our line, crush the weak beneath our heels and raise the powerful to their place of honor,” he practically cooed, lips pressed against the stretching flesh. 

He sat up, ghost pale fingers petting along Ginny’s cheek and shoulder, down her breasts and sides. “My dear Ginevra, how you have pleased me.” 

“Tom,” the girl breathed, a tear slipping down her cheek. 

“Shh, shh, don’t cry my dear, sweet Ginevra. “You’re doing such a wonderful job, growing our child. You are a testament to your family’s lauded fertility. You are the perfect vessel for my progeny.” 

“Tom,” the girl breathed again. 

“Ah, I understand,” he breathed, and he sounded pleased with himself. He ran his hand down the seam of his robe, and the material parted to reveal equally pasty white skin. Voldemort, it seemed, was a traditionalist, Harry realized, nauseated. The same hand that parted his robes reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a vibrant candy red potion. A sudden motion had him swallowing the potion before turning to kiss the naked girl. 

Harry’s eyes burned with tears even as he turned away, gagging. He reached desperately for the door, but it was already too late. The images, the sounds, were burning their impression into his mind. He lunged away. 

 

*** 

Tbc… 

~NEXT TIME~

“I say, Mr. Potter! It’s rather late to be out. Are you all right?” 

“Does he look all right to you, Porpinton,” a sneering voice answered, and Harry blinked, idly wondering if all Slytherins were just naturally born with that sneering voice or if it was something they were taught. 

*

“Twenty points from Gryffindor—out after curfew and language.” 

Harry could stop the smile from tweaking his lips. “You’re slipping, sir. Even a year ago that would have been worth over a hundred points,” he added before firmly shutting the door behind him. 

*

“As a matter of fact, there is some news,” Dumbledore revealed. “Although that wasn’t why I asked you to come visit with an old man… Alas, I suppose we could address business before pleasure.” 

* 

“Fear of a name—” Harry started. 

“It’s not fear!” Snape actually growled. “It’s taboo.” 

*

“But it still begs the question—how did the dark lord survive for over twelve years as nothing more than a wraith? Why didn’t his spirit just move on when his body was destroyed? And make no mistake, his body was disintegrated by the backlash of magic when his spell failed to kill you. So, how? How and why?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry answered after a moment spent trying to think of an answer. “Magic?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!   
> I'm anticipating the next six months to be rather stressful and hectic for me, so I'm not sure how much revision and writing I will get done with this story. However, the next four chapters have been laid out. Many scenes are already written out, but with gaps in the narrative, they're nowhere near ready for sharing just yet. Hopefully, this longer chapter will satiate until next time. ;) Take care of yourselves!


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